


Leave Just a Sigh

by captaincharming



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, M/M, Slash, don't read this it's literally taking forever, sorry sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2492789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincharming/pseuds/captaincharming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian falls in love with David in an unexpected way, but when it's taken from him, can he find David again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something I've been working on for about a month. The inspiration was basically I just wanted to write something a little more sad than my usual, and it keeps expanding til I swear it's going to be 100k words. I've decided to post it in weekly (or so) installments. I hope you guys like it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

  

He should have known nothing good could come of a meeting with the most reprehensible wench of a woman he’d ever had the misfortune to meet. 

Killian turns away from the conniving sorceress with a scoff, intending to make his way back to his lonely quarters below deck of the Jolly Roger. This night was one that called for rum, and so much of it that he would slip into blissful oblivion, free from the memories Cora was valiantly attempting to dredge up. 

“I have no interest in pursuing that crocodile to worlds unknown. I’ve already spent far too much of my life seeking revenge. I’d prefer to dedicate my time to more fruitful endeavors, if it’s all the same to you.” Killian’s tone is airy, flippant, belying the ache in his chest he’s tried so stubbornly for so long to repress. He often wishes it had been his heart Rumplestiltskin had ripped out, seemingly a lifetime ago. Anything to spare him the pain of what came after that fateful day. 

Cora calls after him in a tone of faux surprise, but Killian hears the smugness beneath it. 

“Forgive me, I must have been mistaken in believing you’d be willing to brave any hardship in order to reclaim a love lost.” 

Killian hesitates, cursed heart leaping into his throat. He doesn’t want to give Cora the satisfaction of recapturing his attention, but if she means… 

He twists back around, ignoring the knowing smile on the wretched woman’s face. His eyes burn into hers, desperately searching for any sign of deception. When he speaks, his voice is choked, revealing the emotions Cora was clearly counting on to get her way. 

“Offer your terms and know that if you are lying to me, my crocodile hunt will seem like a friendly game of chase compared to my pursuance of you.” 

Cora’s smile grows as she steps toward Killian once more, and he barely manages to keep from flinching away when she runs one long-nailed finger down his cheek. 

“Oh my darling captain, I would never lie to you. My terms are really quite simple.” She takes him arm, turning them back to face the door. “Come with me, help me reunite with my rebellious daughter and in turn, I will lead you to your precious Prince Charming.” 

Allowing himself to be steered by Cora’s suddenly tight grip, Killian feels a fluttering of something suspiciously similar to hope; the one emotion he hasn’t felt in what seems like centuries. 

 _David_ , his heart sings frantically, joining the rush of sound as his blood pounds in his ears. 

If he’s honest with himself, it’s a tune his heart has never stopped beating to from the moment he and David met.

\--x--

“Who the hell are you?” 

Killian smiles at the vehemence with which the question is spat, the speaker’s face twisted in a delightfully paradoxical mixture of self-confident rage and obvious trepidation. Not that Killian can fault him; if he were the one who had been accosted in the street and dragged onto what was very plainly a pirate ship, he’s sure he would be equal parts outraged and terrified. Although he supposes he’s slightly outraged as well. How dare this man not know who he is. But, Killian thinks graciously, he is from a far-off land. Even an infamy such as his own has its limits. 

Though he sympathizes with the man’s plight, Killian doesn’t deign to answer the question posed of him. 

“Why, that’s exactly what I had planned to ask you,” he says instead, taking the seat at his map desk facing his guest, who is bound to the chair by the bed. “Who could you possibly be to warrant such an impressive incentive to capture you?”

Killian produces the wanted poster he’s had tucked in his pocket for weeks with a flourish, watching with great interest as the color drains from his captive’s face.

“You see, I happened to stumble across this in a small port town, ages ago now, and it piqued my curiosity to no end. _‘What could this man have done to put such a price on his head?’_ I asked myself, and I simply had to find out the answer.” Killian leans closer to the vexed man, and is amused when he draws himself up as straight as possible to put space between them.

“So,” Killian continues conversationally, “my crew and I have been keeping an eye out for you in our recent travels. Thankfully, this poster’s artist created an incredible likeness.” He holds the parchment up to the bound man’s face and makes a show of glancing back and forth between the two. “It’s uncanny, really. Made the job of spotting you that much easier. I recognized you right away. Of course, you have a face that would be hard to forget.” Killian leers exaggeratedly, and his prisoner turns said face away in disgust.

Killian sits back with a small laugh, turning his attention back to the flyer he holds. In truth, he had pulled it down from the wall of a dingy alley on his way to an even dingier pub, simply because he found the man it featured to be unbelievably attractive. Looking back up at the real life version of the drawing, Killian is pleased to note that his looks hadn’t been fabricated. He’s perfect.

Pale blue eyes glare out at him from beneath an unruly mop of dark blond hair, putting Killian in mind of a pristine beach beneath a cloudless day. The man, whose name the poster proclaims to be David, has a straight nose that sits above a slightly crooked mouth, but the contrast is nothing short of delightful. David’s angular jaw gives way to a long neck, framed by shoulders broad enough to entice one to bite their way across them. Killian hadn’t seen his men bring David aboard, so he didn’t get a chance to see David standing, but Killian estimates he’s slightly taller than himself. Overall, David has the build of one accustomed to hard physical labor, and if Killian had to guess, he would wager David to be some sort of farmer.

_Or dastardly criminal, judging by the sum being offered for his procurement._

“I didn’t do anything, okay?” David struggles against his bonds, and his voice pulls Killian from his musings. “They’ve got the wrong man, which means YOU have the wrong man, and I demand you let me go immediately.” He fixes Killian with a look that sends a thrill through Killian’s blood, quickening his heartbeat, and suddenly there doesn’t seem to be enough air in the small cabin.

Smiling grimly, Killian stands and shakes his head, both in response to David’s demand and to cover the sudden flush he can feel rising in his cheeks. Taking a few measured steps towards the foot of his bunk, Killian collects himself before turning back to face David’s furious gaze.

“’fraid I can’t do that, David,” he says, leaning one shoulder against the bunk and smiling again at the look on David’s face at the casual use of his given name. “You see,” Killian drawls, speaking deliberately slowly just to watch David’s frustration grow, “Someone obviously desires you quite badly to go through the trouble of drawing up these lovely posters, and offering an almost as lovely sum for even a _hint_ as to your whereabouts.”

Stepping back over to David, Killian places an arm on either side of the chair, watching as David’s eyes follow the line of his left arm down to the place where his hand should be, taking in the hook before lifting his gaze back to Killian’s. Smirking, Killian leans dangerously close to David’s scowling face. “Which means,” he continues softly, eyes flicking between David’s, “I desire you even more.”

David flushes, whether from the nearness or the words Killian doesn’t know. Leaning in closer, though there was little closer to be had, Killian breathes his next words against David’s mouth.

“You just might be the greatest thing to ever happen to me, David.”

David’s mouth parts slightly, as though he meant to speak but nothing came out, and Killian has to fight valiantly against the urge to claim David’s mouth with his own.

Stepping back from his fetching captive, Killian returns to his own seat. He tracks the movement of David’s tongue as it smoothes over his still parted lips slowly.

“Wh-what do you mean?” David finally asks, voice low and gruff. It grates along the edges of Killian’s nerves, making him wish David weren’t a man of such few words. Killian’s known him a precious short time and yet feels as though he could listen to him for hours.

Plucking his flask from its ever-present residence in his vest, Killian takes a long pull from it to contemplate how he wants to respond to David’s inquiry. Mustn’t reveal too much and yet, he finds himself compelled to provide David with anything he asks, including answers to questions Killian shouldn’t even allow him to ask.

Finally, David’s mien shifts from frozen to impatient and Killian tucks his rum back into his pocket. “Think of it this way,” he says, rubbing his hand against his thigh briskly. “You’ve just landed yourself the role of very expensive bargaining chip. You are the ace up my sleeve, if you will.”

David furrows his brow, shaking his head slightly as though to clear it. “I don’t know what that means. Who are you bargaining with?”

“With whom am I bargaining,” Killian corrects imperiously and David’s scowl returns with a vengeance. Waving his hand dismissively, Killian crosses one leg over the other and leans back in his chair. “You needn’t concern yourself with the details, David. Just know that if ever there comes a time when I find myself in need of a little…leverage, I’ll have to look no further than your becoming face.”

David flushes again, but the look in his eyes has shifted from furious to something deeper, more complex, and Killian is leaning back towards him to decipher just what the look is when the door to his cabin bangs open.

Startled, David jumps, eyes shifting away to focus on the man now standing just outside the door. Killian fixes a glare on his first mate as he steps through the doorway, ever-present red knit cap clutched in his hands.

“What is it, Mr. Smee?” Killian snaps, when no explanation for the man’s sudden appearance is forthcoming.

“Sorry to interrupt Cap’n, but the men are gettin’ anxious to set sail,” Smee rushes to answer, eyes darting from David to Killian rapidly. “This place ain’t too friendly towards pirates, sir.”

David snorts derisively, drawing all eyes to him. He narrows his own eyes back at Killian, who smiles fondly.

“Do you have a distaste for pirates, David?” he asks sweetly, laughing when David looks down at the ropes binding him dubiously.

“Obviously,” he replies, and Killian almost cuts him free, if only to ask his opinion on pirates (and himself in particular) once the present objection is removed.

He stands instead, gesturing toward the door to indicate Smee should move back into the alleyway. Stepping out after him, Killian speaks over his shoulder, making sure David can hear him.

“Right you are, Mr. Smee. What say we sail for friendlier waters?” Smiling back at a frowning David, Killian’s next words are spoken into his striking blue eyes. “We need to give our newest shipmate a taste of the pirate's life.”

Closing the door on David’s sputtered protests, Killian precedes Smee up the stairs into the brilliantly bright sun above deck.

\--x--

Once they’re a ways out to sea, Killian orders one of his men to release David. He sends instructions for his reluctant guest to meet him on the bridge.

Killian waits for David impatiently, good hand tracing a well-worn path around his beloved Jolly Roger’s steering wheel. A bird passes overhead, catching his eye. He tracks its progress across the sky, feeling disgustingly philosophical as he wonders if David suddenly feels like a bird that has had its wings clipped, freedom snatched away without warning.

David’s appearance aloft puts an end to Killian’s wayward thoughts, but the relief is quickly replaced with concern as he watches David make his way toward the helm, rubbing his wrists gingerly.

_Fucking pirates, you’d think they’d have learned how to bind someone’s wrists comfortably by now._

David’s face is set in its familiar scowl, though Killian reasons it could be caused by the glaring sun rather than hostility toward himself.

“Suppose you’re expecting me to thank you for granting me respite from my bonds?” David sneers slightly as he speaks.

_So definitely not the sun what’s putting the look on his face._

“Well,” Killian grins in response, “normally I’d require my guests to pay heavily for such a concession, but I’ll accept your obvious delight as quittance enough.”

David has finally come to stand level with him, and Killian is pleased to note his earlier assessment seems to be correct. David is slightly taller, and significantly broader of shoulder. He radiates capability and Killian finds himself wanting to lean into him, drawing from his strength.

Killian squints up at David, who is staring down at the deck with lips pursed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Guest?” he says incredulously. “If I’m your guest, I’d hate to see how you treat your hostages.”

The Jolly Roger suddenly lists violently starboard, sending David stumbling towards Killian, who catches him easily. _So much for capability,_ Killian thinks wryly. Pulling David flush against his own chest as the ship rightens itself, Killian murmurs in David’s ear.

“Sea legs a bit wobbly,eh? We’ll train you up soon enough.”

David shoves him away, a reaction for which Killian was prepared, so he merely takes a step back as David’s returning glare burns brighter even than the sun.

“For your information, I don’t plan on being aboard this ship long enough for whoever ‘we’ is to teach me anything,” he grits out, hands smoothing the hair back from his face. Killian notices the way they tremble and something in his gut tightens at the sight. Then what David said registers, and Killian’s smile returns.

“Oh no?” he asks, amused. “And just where do you plan on going?” Killian waves an arm to indicate the vast sea surrounding them, watching David’s Adam’s apple bob as he glances out at the water. His eyes snap back to Killian suddenly, who feels a thrill at the intensity in their blue depths.

“You can’t just keep me here,” David replies. He recrosses his arms, matching Killian’s smile with a frown.

Shaking his head in amusement, Killian leans toward David again, not too close to scare him off but near enough that he hears Killian’s whispered promise.

“Watch me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com) or [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

Killian stands at the helm of the Jolly Roger, taking in the scene below him with a wry smile. They’re docked at a wretched little port town, and Killian has sent the crew ashore for supplies (i.e. rum). David has been left behind, mostly because he’d flee given the slightest opportunity.

Currently, David is shackled to the mast and is making his displeasure at such an injustice greatly known. With every movement, he takes special care to rattle his chains as officiously as possible, drawing Killian’s attention to him in the process.

“Make as much noise as you like, David,” Killian calls down to him in amusement. “You know you brought this on yourself. You’ve proven untrustworthy thus far.”

David shoots him a look from the deck before settling himself on the far side of the mast haughtily, out of Killian’s sight for the moment. He doesn’t, however, cease the constant shifting of his manacles.

Killian shakes his head fondly before returning to the perusal of his many charts. David’s adjustment to the seafaring way of life has been…interesting, to say the least. He stubbornly refuses to participate in most of the daily activities on board the ship, though he has seemed to cotton on to the more brutal traits of pirating rather quickly. Though Killian considers it somewhat of a victory that, in the weeks David has been on board the Jolly Roger, he has only made two attempts on Killian’s life. And really, Killian had been asking for it.

He blames it on being distracted by David’s considerable good looks, but in the beginning of David’s tenure on Killian’s ship, Killian had allowed him free rein. He hadn’t required David to return to the shackles in which he’d been brought aboard, and therefore it was understandable that Killian had awoken the first night of David’s stay to a pillow being held over his face.

In one of many unwise moves on Killian’s behalf, he had insisted that David sleep in his own quarters, rather than be contained to the brig. He’d had Smee prepare David a pallet on the floor, and had blissfully (and naively) settled down in his bed across from him. At some point in the night, Killian jolted awake to find David settled astride him, his flimsy excuse for a pillow pressed tight to Killian’s recently sleeping face.

Head swimming from lack of oxygen, Killian had jabbed the pointed tip of his hook into David’s side; violently enough to break the skin, but not enough to cause any real damage. David had jerked away, swearing profusely. Once he’d gotten the breath back to do so, Killian laughed ruefully.

“Going to have to try harder than that, David,” he wheezed, watching David crawl back into his own bed, defeated.

“I’ll remember that,” David promised lowly.

And he had. His next attack had obviously been better thought out, though no more successful. It seems that David had stolen a sword from one of the men whilst they were in the middle of one of their frequent rum-induced “rests”, and kept it hidden beneath a coil of rope on deck. Once he had assured that he and Killian were alone at the helm one afternoon, he had sprung.

Killian, however, had been half expecting such strike and therefore was easily able to parry David’s first blow.

“Aye, now you’re learning,” he’d grinned before setting upon David in earnest. But really David, the poor lad, had no chance against a seasoned pirate such as Killian. He’d defeated David swiftly, pinning him to the railing after wresting his sword away.

“No time to practice swordsmanship on the farm, eh David?” Killian asked innocently. David valiantly attempted to throw Killian off, but it only caused him to press harder, forcing a knee between David’s own and holding David in place with his hips as well as the arm across David’s chest.

“These little displays will get you nowhere, you do realize?” Killian murmured, lips close to David’s ear. “Do you think if you murder me, the men will suddenly see the error of their ways and set you free?”

David had gone eerily still beneath him, and Killian took a moment to admire the fit of their bodies, perfectly matched from knee to hip to shoulder. He’d wanted to bury his face in the juncture where David’s neck met his shoulder, but considering the man had been trying to kill him only moments earlier, he assumed the gesture wouldn’t be well received.

Killian’s hold on David had grown less rigid as the silence grew between them, allowing David’s hands to come up and grip his shoulders. David pushed Killian back from him, gentler than Killian would have expected.

“To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” David said, bowing his head sheepishly, hands still on Killian. It took Killian a few seconds to realize that David was answering his earlier question, and he grinned in response.

“You’re a man of action,” he replied, covering a hand on his shoulder with his own and squeezing once before pulling away. “I like it,” he said with a wink, causing David to flush before he strode away, undoubtedly off to plan his next act of perniciousness.

And so, given David’s apparent violent tendencies, Killian had grown more cautious in his handling of the vexatious man. He still allowed David to wander freely during daylight hours, so long as he was never left to his own devices, but nighttime found him shackled to the desk in Killian’s cabin. He was also chained any time the two of them found themselves alone.

Although Killian was currently rethinking that last stipulation.

“David?” he calls out, not bothering to look up from the damnably small print on the map he was holding. The rattling of chains is the only response he gets, but it’s better than nothing. Unfazed, Killian yells down to David again.

“How’re your eyes, mate?”

Even from across the deck, Killian can feel David’s hesitation.

“Decent,” he answers warily. “Why?”

Ignoring David’s inherent mistrust of him (he did have the man kidnapped and has been holding him hostage for weeks, after all), Killian starts down the stairs toward the lower part of the ship.

 David struggles to stand as he approaches, grimacing in frustration and Killian feels a flash of guilt. Reaching out, he grabs David by the collar of his open neck tunic and hauls him fully upright. Killian stands entirely closer than necessary as he leans around and releases David’s hands from where they’re shackled behind him.

“Free as bird,” he murmurs lowly, stepping back slightly to allow David to stretch his undoubtedly aching arms. David continues to eye him suspiciously, rubbing his wrists distractedly.

“Free being the operative term,” David replies, but Killian barely hears him as he watches David roll his shoulders experimentally, checking for soreness. His attraction to this scruffy farmer is becoming wildly inappropriate. But he is nothing if not a pirate, and pirates aren’t known for their unobjectionable qualities.

“What is it I’m free to do, anyway?” David asks, leaning back against the mast, arms tucked across his chest. His knee brushes against Killian’s as he crosses one leg over the other, the distance between them still at a bare minimum.

Killian neglects to answer him, instead choosing to meet David’s gaze steadily. Impossibly long moments pass as they stare at each other, and Killian feels that curious quickening of his heart again. Finally, Killian is distracted as David’s mouth curls in faint amusement, dropping his eyes to take in the novel sight. David’s never done anything but scowl at him, and somehow Killian feels it imperative that he not miss the sighting of a positive expression on David’s handsome face.

“Killian?” David prompts eventually, smile dropping away to be replaced by the more familiar impatient frown. Killian feels its loss keenly and resolves to find ways to cause it to reappear, before realizing with surprise that David had said his name.

“You’ve not used my name before, David,” he says, with a disbelieving smile of his own. “I’d begun to despair that you truly didn’t know who I was. It’s almost disconcerting to hear you say it now.”

David shrugs carefully, ever mindful of his manacle induced stiffness. “Would you prefer I called you Hook?”

Killian steps away, David’s words breaking the playful mood as effectively as if he’d tossed a bucket of water on Killian. That name has been plaguing him since the…liberation of his hand, but he never imagined it to be a moniker with which David was familiar.

“No,” he replies curtly, turning his back on a curious David and returning to the helm. The title of Captain Hook is one Killian continually struggles to accept. He appreciates it in the sense that it lends him a certain fierceness, putting one in mind of a menacing and gruesome leader of a band of blood-thirsty ruffians. Which, of course, his crew is. Never mind that they’d rather pass out drunk than engage in spirited duel. But acceptance of the appellation also feels like a concession of self. To brand himself Hook is to distance himself from Killian Jones, and not just in name. And while he has never been the same Killian Jones since the death of his brother, Killian isn’t sure it’s someone he’s ready to give up permanently.

This identity crisis is one Killian has been dealing with years now, and he supposes it can be put off for yet another day as he senses David following along after him. He has more important things to address.

"So," David says awkwardly after awhile, "why were you asking about my eyes?"

Killian focuses on him as he comes to stand next to the ship wheel, arms in their perpetually crossed position. He looks thinner than he had when he was brought on board, though no less fetching.

Killian frowns, trying to remember the last time he actually saw David eating when they supped together in the galley. All he can seem to recall is David scowling thoughtfully at his plate. Although, over the last week or so, the thoughtful looks had been less scowly and more contemplative, and directed more toward Killian than table settings. He and David had even taken to conversing, albeit stiltedly and oftentimes more like sniping than actual conversation. They mostly talked about David’s life as a shepherd, but sometimes Killian tried to shock David with dastardly tales of piracy, though David seemed more amused by the attempts than anything. Still, they had built the sort of repartee that had Killian looking forward to dinner each night. He supposed he'd have to start insisting David actually consume something, however.

Prompted by David's impatient stare, Killian finally gets around to answering his question. "The markings on this chart are so damnably small," he complains, shoving the map at David, who accepts it with a surprised look. "For the life of me I can't decipher if that's a one or a seven, and gods help us if I set sail with the wrong coordinates in these waters."

David fumbles with the chart for a moment before holding it inches from his face. The scowl is back, but this time Killian thinks it's more analyzing than contemplative, before thinking that he needs to stop paying such close attention to David's facial expressions.

"Well I'd say it's a one, but now that I know our very lives depend on an accurate reading, I don't want to be responsible for the gruesome deaths of the entire crew," David says in a bored tone, but he smiles at Killian from behind the parchment. Killian grins back, treasuring the moment of camaraderie. 

"I'd venture to guess you wouldn't care to lose one particular member of said crew, given your propensity for assassination attempts against him," Killian drawls in response, delighting in the blush that blooms in David's cheeks.

David ducks his head, fiddling with a corner of the map and Killian watches him patiently. "I suppose I should apologize for that," David mumbles, so low that Killian can barely hear him. He does hear him, of course, and fights the urge to ask David to repeat himself, just for amusement's sake. Killian feels he shouldn't press his luck.

"It's perfectly understandable," he generously replies instead. "I didn't expect us to fall madly in love with one another from the outset, given that I did have you brought here and kept against your will."

David's blush deepens at the words, but he meets Killian's gaze unflinchingly. "But you do expect us to 'fall madly in love' at some point?" he asks sassily, obviously anticipating their usual scathing banter. His expression grows wary as Killian gives him a dreamy half-smile, stepping forward to pluck the chart from his unresistant hands.

It amuses Killian to note that David is always so adorably squirrelly around him. Killian wants to lean in, to make David squirm in that precious way of his, but he stays the impulse.

"Absolutely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com) or [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

Killian returns the chart to his satchel full of various charts and maps, ignoring David's open mouthed stare and indecipherable stammering. He's just turned back to face his captive when he hears a shout from below.

"Cap'n!" Smee calls again, racing up from the dock. Killian startles at his urgency and descends to the deck to meet him, David trailing along in his wake.

“Whatever is the rush, Mr. Smee?” Killian asks, amused. He can’t recall the last time he saw his first mate run for any reason.

“It’s fate, sir, that’s all it is,” Smee pants out, jolting to a stop at Killian’s side. “Sometimes you’re just where you need to be is all, and that’s where I was sir, right where I was.”

"For pity's sake, Smee, do cease this babbling and spit it out already," Killian says irritably, though the rambling annoys him less than the fact that his increasingly interesting conversation with David has been interrupted.

"Yes sir," Smee replies sheepishly, removing his cap to twist it around in his hands. "You see, sir, the boys and I were passing the time waiting for our supplies in this pub sir, and we heard this man, obviously a king's man, well we heard him talking," Smee pauses for a gasping breath before diving back into his tale. "And he was saying how sick he is of runnin all over looking for this fugitive. And he catches us listening, sir, and he asks us if we've been seeing this man around anywhere."

Killian feels his stomach sink with dread as Smee struggles for another breath, not needing him to finish his story to know what he's going to say.

"And what's he show us, Cap'n, other than that same poster what led us to him," he points at David excitedly, "in the first place."

Killian senses David tense beside him, and turns to rest a hand on his chest. David shoots him a sharp look, but Killian shakes his head slightly.

"And just what did you tell this king's man, Mr. Smee?" he asks his first mate, in a voice of forced calm.

Smee looks between David and Killian in confusion, his eyes lingering on Killian's hand. "Um, well I told him, Cap'n. I told him about us finding him and keepin him. I told him he's here."

Killian closes his eyes briefly, feeling David's heart pounding against his hand. A sudden protective urge steals his breath, insisting that he act in defense of the man beside him.  
Refocusing his attention on Smee, Killian addresses him again. "Where is he now, Smee?"

"Well he's on his way, innit he sir? I-I thought," Smee stammers, taken aback by Killian’s suddenly furious tone, "I thought that was the plan, sir? Collectin the reward on this one." He indicates David again, who has stepped away from Killian to begin pacing the deck.

"There's been a change of plans, Mr. Smee," Killian says lowly, catching David's eye as he glances up at the words. Killian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly before speaking again. "I suppose I should have informed you of that, but it's moot point now. David, stop that infernal pacing! I cannot think if you insist on pacing."

David glares at him suddenly, eyes flashing. "I'm sorry, but I believe I have a reason to be worried. I'm about to be auctioned off like cattle, going to the highest bidder!" He continues to wear a path in the wood before Killian steps in front of him, impeding his progress. David meets his gaze defiantly, chin held high, looking down his nose to Killian's lesser height.

Killian takes him by the shoulders, brushing his thumb against the base of David's neck gently. "The way I see it," Killian says softly, speaking for David's ears only, "you have three options here." David's brow furrows briefly, but he doesn't interrupt. Killian wets his lips before continuing, thumb resting against David's jumping pulse point.

"Three options," he says again, regaining the track of his thoughts. "First, you can wait for this man, leave with him, and learn exactly what it is the king wants with you. Second," Killian says firmly, gripping David tighter as he attempts to protest, “you can leave right now, take your chances out there against heaven knows how many henchman, ducking from town to town and living a life of perpetual delinquency. Or," and here Killian pauses again, knowing that offering this third option puts him at risk of having his heart ripped to shreds for a second time.

"Or, you can stay here with me. Join my crew, and we'll provide you with fidelity and protection. You'll no longer be forced to remain here, but if you choose to, I will keep you safe. I promise." Killian quiets, eyes searching David's, which have grown wide as saucers at Killian's proposition.

Killian feels every agonizing second that passes between them in silence. David's eyes give away nothing as they stare into Killian's, while Killian knows that every design of his desperate heart is reflected in his own. He waits, the faint buzz in his ears the only thing he can hear, David's guarded pale gaze his only focus.

Before David can respond, there's a shout from the dock. Breaking Killian's stare, David glances worriedly over. Killian follows suit, ignoring Smee's flabbergasted expression. Apparently, he hadn't been speaking as softly as he thought.

They all watch as a man reaches the top of the gangway, his face set in a hard scowl. He's huge, Killian notes with a fair amount of trepidation, though not gilded in any sort of armor.

Killian shakes David lightly to recapture his attention. David looks back down at him, jaw clenched.

"Gonna need an answer, Dave," Killian murmurs, sliding his hand up David's neck to brush his thumb along his tight jaw.

David swallows visibly, and Killian imagines he leans into the hand on his cheek ever so slightly.

"You."

At the breathed word, Killian steps deftly around David as the man approaches, guiding his newest crew member behind himself and settling his hand on the hilt of his sword. He'll acknowledge the acrobatic leap of his heart later. For now, he has a situation to address.

He's not sure if it's because of David's recent declaration, but Killian feels oddly invincible as he steps up to face the hulking man. He knows that over-confidence can lead to nothing good, but he stoutly ignores his own advice.

“Good afternoon," Killian says brightly, affecting an overly cheerful demeanor. When the man draws level with him, Killian wonders why he bothered trying to shield David behind him; the kingsman can see over his head easily.

"Afternoon," comes the grunted reply. The man fingers the sword strapped to his waist lightly, eyeing Killian's casual grip on his own. He jerks his head at David. "This the one?"

Killian feels David's breath on his neck, softer and more even than he'd expect in this situation. He shakes his head, sunny smile still in place. "Sorry mate, appears there's been some kind of mix up," Killian says contritely. "My crew can't always be relied on when they're too far into their cups, you see."

"Is that so?" the behemoth replies in a flat tone, "Because that fucker back there looks an awful lot like the fucker I've been chasing for months now."

Killian can feel David bristle behind him and wants to laugh at his ridiculousness, but the situation at hand seems to call for a bit more sobriety. "I'm afraid that's impossible, my good sir, because the...charming man behind me has been a member of my crew for as far back as I can remember." Killian shoots Smee a quelling look when he opens his mouth in confusion.

To Killian's surprise, King George's solider barks a laugh, but it's quickly apparent he sees no humor in the situation.

"Listen here, pirate scum, you're lucky that I am willing to deal with you at all. I could have you and every last one of your men executed with one missive to the king. I don't have time for your games, and I won't put up with them much longer." He reaches into his pocket and Killian tenses, but he merely produces a small pouch which he tosses at Killian's feet. Based on the clinking it makes, Killian assumes it is David's ransom. "Now take your money, hand over the outlaw, and we'll go our separate ways."

Killian's responding laugh is also devoid of humor, but he senses David moving almost imperceptibly closer, pressing against his back, and takes heart. He feels foolishly like he could take on even his slimy crocodile, as long as he had David standing with him.

"I do believe I made myself perfectly clear when I told you this isn't the man you're looking for. Though," he adds thoughtfully, "perhaps you can't hear me all the way up there. Shall I shout?"

Killian's been told his entire life that his cheeky tongue would get him into trouble and, much to his chagrin, the warning had come true at every possible opportunity. This time is no exception, and Killian finds himself staggering back into David as the unfriendly giant lands a blow across Killian's jaw. David's arms come around his waist, keeping Killian upright as they stumble into the ship's railing.

Killian's assailant draws his sword before stepping after them. Killian blinks rapidly to clear the spots swimming in his vision, groping blindly for his own weapon. David, it seems, has other plans. He dumps Killian to the deck quite unceremoniously and pulls Killian's sword from its sheath. The guard approaches David menacingly as he holds the sword aloft.

Killian feels a stab of fear, remembering David's questionable swordsmanship skills. He struggles to stand, head throbbing, but David pushes him back down with a stern look. Killian stills, not wanting to distract David from his already horrendous sword wielding.

Suddenly, and in a flurry of movement Killian's addled brain can't quite comprehend, Smee leaps from nowhere to wrap his arms around the towering man's neck. The kingsman turns, successfully managing to wrench Smee free, and David takes his momentary distraction as a chance to plunge Killian's sword into his side. Then, before the soldier has time to react, David bends down to catch him around the waist, flipping him in an impressively swift move over his shoulder and into the water off the side of the Jolly Roger.

Killian can do nothing but stare as David straightens ups, panting around a huge grin, and claps Smee on the shoulder. He then turns to Killian, offering him a hand, bright smile making Killian even weaker in the knees than the punch had.

"All right there, Captain?" David asks, biting his lip and causing Killian to wonder if the blow actually had jarred his brains loose and if he is now hallucinating.

Accepting David’s hand and ignoring the curious tingling where their palms meet, Killian allows David to haul him to his feet. He feels curiously light, and begins to foolishly attribute it to the change in his and David’s relationship before he realizes it’s the absence of the weight of his sword. Killian glances down at David’s free hand and frowns when he doesn’t see his trusty weapon. Dropping David’s hand abruptly, Killian crosses his arms over his chest.

David is looking at him curiously, blue eyes innocently wide. “What’s the matter?” he asks concernedly, “Are you feeling okay? That was a hell of a punch.”

Killian nods shortly, clenching his jaw before a searing pain causes him to loosen it again. “It certainly was, but that’s not my concern at the moment,” he replies in a tight voice, watching David’s brow wrinkle in confusion. “Pray tell, where might my sword have got to, David?”

David’s eyes widen in realization before flicking over to the water. He bites his lip again, a sheepish blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Well I, uh, I mean I didn’t have a chance to think,” he mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I guess I might’ve…left it in him?” David glances up at Killian from beneath his eyelashes, clearly using his boyish good looks to their full advantage.

Killian nods again, refusing to be swayed, no matter what his heart is currently trying to tell him. “As your captain, I hereby order you to retrieve it. Posthaste,” he adds loudly when David begins to sputter a refusal. “The tide will carry the body away soon.”

David looks to Smee in disbelief, obviously trying to ascertain if Killian is serious or not. Smee shrugs at him before nodding, and David turns back to Killian with an exasperated look.

“Tick tock David,” Killian insists, ignoring the twinge that always accompanies that particular word choice.

With a venomous look and plenty of under-his-breath muttering, though very little resisting, David reaches down to yank off his boots. Killian nearly swallows his tongue when David’s shirt follows suit, leaving him clad in nothing but loosely tied trousers. Before Killian can tell him to take the sensible route and use the gangway, David clambers onto the ship’s railing and dives off gracefully.

"Idiot," Killian yells after him, peering over the edge anxiously. David is possessed of a stubbornness that Killian is just getting to know, but which already drives him crazy.

Killian watches him emerge and tread water briefly to get his bearings, before swimming over to the fallen man in just a few strong strokes. Killian breathes a sigh of relief, glad to know that if nothing else, David is obviously a very competent swimmer.

"Got it!" David cries triumphantly, waving the sword about in a fashion that causes Killian to cringe. He certainly has a lot to learn about the finer points of swordsmanship if Killian is going to pass him off as a pirate. Though, on the plus side, he has thus far shown no aversion to brutal murder.

"Stay there, you idiot, and we'll haul you up!" Killian shouts back, suppressing a smile. He glances over at Smee, who's already grabbed the nearest length of rope and is carting it to the railing. Killian helps him secure it before tossing it overboard.

David proves to be an agile climber, swiftly making his way up the rope. He tosses the sword up and Killian reaches to help him over the railing, pulling David's sodden form against himself briefly.

"You'll catch your death of cold, imbecile," Killian murmurs in his ear before stepping away. David smiles, but Killian sees the way his teeth chatter.

"That's the third time in a short while you've implied that I'm stupid," David replies, rubbing his bare arms briskly. Killian refuses to note the intoxicating way the water drips down his abdomen, pays no attention the delicious sharpness of his collarbone, is oblivious to the pronounced jut of hipbones just visible above the waist of his low rising trousers. And he would have kept on decidedly not noticing any of this if it hadn't been for David's sudden wracking shiver. Sighing, Killian catches him by one wrist and begins to bodily drag him across the deck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com) or [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

"If you wouldn't do stupid things, I wouldn't call you stupid," Killian finally replies, taking the stairs down below two at a time as David trips along in his wake. He smirks David over his shoulder. "Besides, there was nothing implied about it, darling."

David scoffs, but surprisingly says nothing as he continues to allow Killian to pull him along. Killian doesn't let go until they reach his cabin, where he pushes David down on the bed. David stares up at him through wide eyes, lashes clumped together wetly, and Killian almost laughs, knowing that David is thinking of Killian's earlier statement about love. He pretends not to notice the way David tenses as he leans in, reaching to pull the bedsheets up around David's shoulders.

"Can't have you getting the whole crew sick," Killian says softly, searching David's eyes and wondering at the new intimacy between them. Hadn't he just had David chained to the mast this morning? It feels as though their relationship has grown immeasurably since then, though he supposes that will happen when someone risks their life for yours.

David still hasn't said anything, and Killian grows uncomfortable with the way they're looking at each other. David's gaze is prickling his skin, and the back of his neck feels hot. Killian is used to being collected no matter the situation, but David has a way of throwing him just off-kilter enough that he doubts himself. Clearing his throat slightly, Killian looks away from the pale blue eyes in front of him.

"I've yet to thank you for your moronic heroism," he says, striving for a normal tone but coming up woefully short. If David notices, he doesn't say anything, but his eyes crinkle around the corners.

"Somehow that feels more like an insult than sincere gratitude," David replies, grinning impishly. Killian rolls his eyes and begins to rephrase, but David's hand against his cheek stops him. David fingers the growing bruise on his jaw and Killian almost flinches away when he finds the tenderest spot.

"I think we're even," David says lowly, eyes lidded, and Killian wants to shove him back on the bed. He feels that impulse might not be well received (for now, his mind supplies hopefully), so he instead draws his trusty sarcasm around him like a cloak. He's always been talented in subterfuge.

"On the contrary, I feel I am owed my own measure of gratitude for valiantly standing between you and that brute's corpulent fists," Killian sniffs, turning his head so David's hand drops away. "A great measure," he adds pointedly, angling his head in a way he knows will highlight his bruised jaw and adopting his most pitiful expression.

David is seemingly unmoved by this display, and merely laughs as he tightens the blanket around his shoulders. "As my captain, isn't sort of your job to protect me? In fact," David sits up straighter, gaining enthusiasm for his words, "didn't you specifically offer me protection when that soldier first came aboard?"

It's Killian's turn to scoff, shaking his head and attempting to interrupt David, who refuses to allow it. "I believe your exact words were," David's voice drops into what Killian assumes is an impression of himself, though it's so terrible he can't be sure, "'remain here, and I will keep you safe, I promise.'" He smiles up at Killian when he's finished, inordinately pleased with himself.

The more of his personality he reveals, the more Killian comes to realize that David is an asshole. But a gorgeous one. Killian would never admit to David that he finds his antics adorable, but that doesn't mean they aren't.

"I've changed my mind. The Jolly Roger no longer welcomes you," Killian replies haughtily, mostly just to hear David laugh again.

David shrugs nonchalantly. "You'd miss me if I left," he says lightly, running a hand through his still dripping hair and flicking the water at Killian.

Killian wants to reply scathingly, to say he wouldn't miss David's attitude or homicidal tendencies or wet arse on his bed, but something stops him. There's a glint in David's eyes, almost as if he's daring Killian to refute the statement and hoping he won't, all at once. It startles him enough that he pauses, and David's smile turns from amused to questioning.

Because the truth is, Killian would miss him. He would miss him almost desperately; the loss of could-be just added on to the long line of lost had-been. Killian was all too familiar with losing his loves, and the thought of losing the one he feels has the potential to be his greatest is almost too much to bear.

The silence stretches on between as Killian gets lost in his increasingly maudlin thoughts. For once, though, David seems content to let it grow. He watches Killian's struggle with an enigmatic expression, eyes shuttered, teeth worrying his lower lip gently. Killian feels a flash of want so strong that he has to close his eyes briefly, fist clenching at his side to keep from hauling David up by his mop of hair and replacing the teeth on his lip with his own. When he opens them, he finds David has scooted to the edge of the bed, feet planted on the floor on either side of Killian. His hands are in his lap, fingers picking at his cuticles absently. He smiles again when he finds Killian's eyes on him, but it's quieter than before; more genuine than mocking.

Realizing that one must make themselves vulnerable to rejection in the pursuit of someone they care for, Killian finally answers David honestly.

"I would." At David's blank look, Killian shakes his head fondly. The man is a ditz. "Miss you," he clarifies softly, eyes dropping to the floor, "most keenly."

Killian isn't sure what it is about David that reduces his typically confident self to a blushing schoolboy but here he is, ears burning as he stares hard at his worn boots, awaiting David's reply. It's never been like this, even with Milah, whom he loved almost desperately. His seduction of her had been all charming arrogance and glib lines. Never once had Killian felt unsure that his affections would be received (and reciprocated), and he'd displayed his usual bravado and confidence throughout their relationship. With David, it's easy to project that same sassy pretension when they're trading barbed insults. but in quiet moments like these the cracks in that facade are effortlessly seen. Where before he had expected adoration to be readily given, Killian now feels he has to earn David's. And it worries him that he may not be up to the task.

After a few more seconds where Killian curses himself every kind of fool, he can take the silence no longer and raises his eyes to David's once more.

He's wearing a small smile, and Killian absently thinks that he's smiled more in the last hour than in his entire tenure on the ship. Killian expects him to ask why; to inquire as to the changing nature of their relationship or to shrug off Killian's declaration entirely. Instead David imperiously says, "Obviously," and knocks one of his bony knees into Killian's thigh.

In a fit of pique, Killian shoves David back onto the bed as he laughs. Killian has half a mind to climb up after him and either kiss him or attempt his own version of the suffocating act; he's still deciding when David sits back up, taking both options away.

Whatever he's about to say gets lost as Smee comes barreling through the door. He freezes when he sees David, bare-chested on the bed with Killian between his legs.

"Sorry to disturb, Cap'n," he says hesitantly, taking a step back out of the room.

Killian moves away as David stands up, his eyes searching the room. Killian realizes he's after a shirt and opens his trunk to pull one out.

"Go on, make yourself decent David. We have a guest." He tosses it to David, who smiles gratefully before pulling it over his head. Killian watches him while addressing his first mate.

"How can I help you, Mr. Smee?" he asks, careful not to let the irritation he feels at being interrupted show. David is searching the room again, for what Killian assumes are his boots, but those were left above deck.

"I was thinking, sir, that we best be shoving out," Smee answers, avoiding Killian's gaze. "Them men what was with the one he," Smee jerks his head at David, "killed will surely be missin him by now."

Killian frowns, knowing he let David get in his head more than he'd realized. Smee shouldn't be the one making Killian aware of their nebulous position. He’s the bloody captain, after all.

"Right you are, Mr. Smee," Killan says through gritted teeth, sparing David a quick glare. He is still fruitlessly searching the cabin and takes no notice of Killian's censure.

"So we're leaving then?" David asks distractedly, lifting the bedsheets as if his boots would be hiding beneath.

Despite his best efforts to focus, Killian is waylaid again by the sight of David in one of his shirts. There's no doubt the man cuts a fine figure, and Killian tries to decide if he prefers him shirtless or dressed up in Killian's clothes.

David notices the attention, despite his continuous rummaging. He wrinkles his nose at Killian before asking, "Did I leave my boots up top? I don't see them down here."

Instead of answering him, Killian turns to Smee. "Mr. Smee, please fetch David his boots before he renders my quarters uninhabitable from his searches." Killian fixes David with a speculative look. "Or decides to commandeer mine by tossing me overboard as well."

"Ha ha," David says flatly as Smee turns to obey Killian. "No hang on, I can get them myself."

Smee glances at Killian questioningly, and Killian waves him on. "No, Smee will get them. Meanwhile," he takes a step nearer to David, cognizant of their height difference as always, "you are going to inform me why I've put myself and my crew in harm's way to let you stow away on my ship."

David seems startled, but sets his jaw in the stubborn way to which Killian is fast becoming accustomed. Killian raises his hand before David can even begin to respond. "It did not matter from whom or what you were running when you were merely my captive, but now that you are a member of my crew there are certain things I need to know."

Killian drops his hand to run it along David's arm, fingers lingering on the jut of his ulna. David's eyes lower to the point of contact, unconsciously moving closer. His skin is still cool to the touch, and Killian worries the possibility of a cold is very likely. He wants to call David an idiot once more but refrains, waiting for David to fill the silence that has fallen between them yet again.

Killian wants to push him, to demand to know everything, but he knows David would respond most unfavorably to such actions. David's reluctance is already a palpable force in the room. Trust is something that cannot be forced, and though Killian longs for David to trust him implicitly, he knows he must first earn it.

Sighing heavily, Killian pulls David in and presses his mouth to one of his ears. "You will tell me. Eventually," he promises gruffly, squeezing David's wrist before letting go and stepping away, just as Smee reappears at the door.

"Got 'em," he says simply, tossing the boots at David's feet. David thanks him quietly, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

"So we are leaving?" he asks again, having never received an answer. He reaches for his boots while still looking at Killian.

Killian nods, making his way to the door to stand beside Smee. "Immediately, so finish up quickly and join us on deck. It's time you learned to pilot a ship." He smiles at David softly, eyes lingering again on the sight of him in Killian's clothes. "I have spare trousers in the trunk," he adds, gaze landing on David's own, still damp and clinging to him most becomingly.

David laughs, pulling off the boots he'd just tugged on. "Appreciate it." He stands up, hands going for the string of his pants, smiling wryly when Killian hesitates. "I'll be right up," he says, eyes sparkling.

With one last longing glance, Killian leaves him to it, gesturing for Smee to follow him above deck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com) or [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

 

"Upright, David, you bloody invalid!" Killian shouts for what feels like the thousandth time that day. He rubs his temples exasperatedly, closing his eyes against the rude gesture David makes at him.

"I am holding it up," David huffs back, brandishing his sword carelessly. "This is up!"

Killian reaches out to correct his stance, fingers gripping his wrist tightly. "Holding it high is not equivalent to holding it up, which you know perfectly well, seeing as I've told you five hundred times!" Killian argues. David jerks his arm back with a nasty look and Killian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly to stop himself from knocking the glare off David’s face. It’s becoming a popular inclination.

They’ve been bickering for over an hour about everything from proper stance to correct terminology, and Killian has reached the end of his admittedly short rope.

They're into their fifth week with David as a member of the Jolly Roger's crew, and Killian has yet to make any headway in David's swordsmanship training. They've only just begun their very first lesson, which Killian finds unforgivable. Granted, most of that five week period had been spent teaching David the more practical applications of his new life aboard a ship. He could now run sails, tie six different knots, powder a cannon, and perform any number of day to day tasks. Smee had been in charge of the majority of David's training, bringing David's education along at a blistering pace. He probably could have turned David into an accomplished buccaneer by now, but Killian had decided to take it upon himself to see David trained in how to use a sword.

Watching David now, Killian wishes he'd left this task to Smee as well. The man was going to drive him mad.

With Smee, David showed nothing but eager attention, soaking in the lessons and performing them in rapid succession. He's respectful and witty, and Killian often catches the two of them having a laugh between lessons. But with Killian, David is obstinate and inattentive. He argues every point Killian introduces to him, and is offended by Killian's constructive criticism. He even argued about the criticism itself, claiming that calling someone a cod faced dandy was neither constructive nor helpful. Killian maintains that it was a motivational technique. Neither of them have laughed once since the start of their session.

Killian is well aware that the invidious nature of their lesson has little to do with his instructional methods and much to do with the tension that has built between the two of them since the day of David's appointment to crew member. Whatever peculiar mood David had been temporarily struck by had vanished by the time he'd joined Killian above deck. Gone were the open smiles and flirtatious touches; they were replaced by all too familiar scowls and clipped responses. Killian had wanted to weep at their absence. As it were, his own hopeful vulnerability had been substituted for his usual snark and brashness.

Killian can't fathom what could have changed in the brief moments David was alone in the cabin. He's made to ask David about it several times since, but loses his nerve whenever he meets David's blank stare.

Killian had yet to abandon all hope, though. He still caught David looking his way far more often than strictly prudent, and David still took a place next to him at dinner every night. Killian was convinced that these were positive signs, and spent much of his time imagining scenarios in which David finally drops his guard and allows the David from weeks ago to return.

He's currently picturing one such scene, speculating on what might have happened had Smee never interrupted their rendezvous in Killian's cabin. It's something he could ponder all day, but it seems David has little patience for such speculations. He reaches across what Killian has insisted is the "en-garde line" to smack Killian's shoulder with the broad side of his sword. 

"Daydream on your own time, Captain," he says snidely, but Killian thinks he spots the merest hint of a smile beneath the words. Killian beams in return, before becoming disgusted with himself at how easily he perked up at the slightest positive attention. He grasps readily at the opportunity to do something other than snipe at each other.

While he’s smiling like an imbecile, David reaches to hit him again. Killian deflects the playful blow easily, nearly wrenching David's sword from his hands. David fumbles with it for a moment, straightening up with a scowl. Killian smiles at him innocently.

"As captain, all of the time on this ship is my time. I'll daydream about whatever and," he allows his eyes to roam over David slowly, grinning when he meets David's pale blue stare, "whomever I please."

David flushes and Killian knows. Things haven’t changed a bit since the day David joined the crew. The color in David’s cheeks say more than his surly attitude ever could, and Killian knows he wouldn’t be remiss to recreate the atmosphere from his cabin that night.

His newfound confidence is nearly dashed as soon as it was found when Killian steps closer, clearly breaking his own rule about crossing the line, and David takes a step back for every step Killian takes forward. Finally he’s backed against the ship's railing in a more intentional repeat of the last time they crossed swords.

Killian says nothing, just watches David’s face quiescently. He’s biting his lip, fingers flexing nervously on the hilt of his sword. David meets Killian’s eyes for a moment, eyebrows knitted together questioningly. A lock of his unruly hair has flopped over one eye, and before he can stay the impulse, Killian brushes it aside with the tip of his hook.

It seems to break David out of his reverie. He tilts his chin in that infuriatingly regal way of his, looking down the slight distance into Killian’s face.

"So this is a...thing then?" David asks roughly, pausing to clear his throat partway through the question. He keeps his sword up between them, finally holding it correctly at the least convenient time. Killian takes his wrist again, easing David's arm down to his side. David offers little resistance and Killian caresses his wrist gently, David's skin hot to the touch.

"What is this thing of which you speak?" Killian replies teasingly, brushing David's fingers before pulling his arm back. He stays close, close enough to count the individual light blond lashes that cover David's striking eyes. David swallows visibly before speaking, Killian's gaze tracking the movement of his Adam's apple. 

"This," David repeats, gesturing between them. "This...," he pauses again, searching for the word, hand coming to rest on the hilt of the sword at Killian's hip. The warmth from David's arm against his side makes Killian want to crush him close; to feel that same warmth all over. But David obviously has something he needs to say and so Killian waits, watching David struggle to put his thoughts into words. David finally drops his stare, words coming out in a low tone.

"Between us. This thing between us," he mumbles, still not meeting Killian's eyes. "I want to call it a flirtation but it feels like something else." While he speaks, David's hand moves hesitantly from Killian's sword to his hip, thumb stroking lightly across the bone he finds there.   
  
As if David's touch hadn't rendered him speechless enough, his words leave Killian completely inarticulate. He'd never imagined a confrontation on his behavior. Killian assumed David would be as coy and embarrassed as ever until Killian dropped all pretense and sequestered him away in his cabin. Leave it to David to prefer tackling things head on over playing the sort of games Killian finds infinitely delightful. And while Killian is usually a particularly eloquent fellow, David's earlier fumbling speech making seems to have passed on to him. He flounders briefly while David continues to find his boots endlessly fascinating. 

Killian strives to decide on the best approach to take. Honesty has never come easy to him, and therefore his immediate reaction is to downplay David's perception. To write this off as a game, or a side effect from the slop served in the galley every night. Anything to keep from appearing soft. But standing here, close enough to feel David's quiet breaths against his face, Killian is still overcome with the urge to hold him. He realizes that a concession on his part is unlikely to scare David away, given the way he continues touching Killian delicately, but an inborn sense of self-preservation tries to prevent Killian from confessing his heart.

Finally, Killian decides to turn the line of questioning back on David to give himself time to think. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, David," he says throatily, shifting further into David's increasingly bold touch. David's head comes up at that and he glares at Killian hotly. Such a temper.

"This!" he replies insistently, shaking Killian lightly by his grip on his waist. He quiets then, still meeting Killian's eyes steadily. "I'm just...I don't know if this is just how you are with everyone or if it's...if we, you know. Because it feels...and I'm not usually...it's just, I don't know what to think," David continues haltingly. "I mean I thought it was...but then things have be weird the past few weeks so then I thought maybe it was just your way of getting me to stay and now that I have you don't...you know? And even if you do, this is crazy." David waves his free arm between them, seemingly to encompass their relationship. “I don’t know…how does this even work?” He bites his lip again and waits for Killian's response, fingers still holding Killian nervously tight. 

Killian wants to scoff at his incomprehensible ramblings, but manages to tone it down to a mocking smile. "Well that certainly cleared things up," he says, nodding solemnly before yelping as David pinches him. Hard.

"You know what I mean.”

Killian shoves at him lightly in payment for the pinch, but smiles more genuinely this time.

"I do, actually," he acknowledges, finally reciprocating David's exploratory touches by running a hand up his arm. He leans nearer, putting them nearly nose to nose and speaks his next words carefully, heart beating in his ears insistently. "And I meant what I told you before.”

Witnessing David's furrowed brow up close, Killian wants to press his finger to the fine lines it creates between his eyes, but hasn't the chance before David speaks again.

"What you said when?"

Killian doesn't reply immediately, choosing instead to press his forehead to David's, closing his eyes and breathing in slowly. David tugs him closer, putting them flush from shoulder to hip.

Killian knows that the answer to that question will change the course of his future with David, and the thought of losing him over something as trivial as  _love_ seems foolish. Killian will take him in any capacity. He doesn't need to hold him or kiss him or wake beside him in the morning. All he needs are dinners and verbal spats and longing looks shared across the deck of a ship. Love leads to loss, nothing more, and Killian couldn't bear losing David to its insatiable lust for heartache.

Even as he thinks it, Killian realizes he's fooling no one but himself. Standing here now, connected to David as he is, Killian knows that he never wants to not be connected to David. In fact, his only desire is to increase their connection by any means possible. The feeling of David’s soft breath continuing to ghost across his face is all he wants, to know that he’s near enough to share the very air in their lungs.

Decision made, Killian opens his eyes to find David watching him, breathing gone still, fingers anxiously plucking at the leather of Killian's vest.

"When I told you that I had every intention of falling in love with you," Killian confesses quietly, slipping his hand behind David's neck and clasping it lightly. David gapes at him, eyes wide and incredulous. "I meant it then and I mean it now. And I've meant it every moment in between. And if you don't close your mouth and stop staring at me, I'll close it for you.”

To Killian's surprise, David actually listens. At least partially. He closes and then opens his mouth several times before managing a verbal reply. Killian’s own breathing ceases as he watches the scowl that takes over David’s previously open face.

"Well that's not very romantic. Here I thought you were good with words," David grumbles, but the sudden light in his eyes belays his tone. "Even I could have come up with something better than that."

And as untoward as it seems at what should be a serious moment, Killian feels such laughter bubbling up that he can't help the deep chuckle that escapes. David's grin isn't helping matters, and Killian hits him with the curve of his hook.

“You are an idiot,” he says simply, brushing his thumb along David’s smiling lips. "Perhaps it's not so much words that I'm good with as it is my mouth." Killian raises an eyebrow at David suggestively. "Would you like to find out?"

David's sass evaporates as the open-mouthed look returns, but Killian chooses to rectify it with action this time. He's just leaned in to claim David's lips like the ruthless pirate he is when there comes a crash from the entry to the stairs that lead below deck. David's head jerks toward the noise, and Killian's mouth presses to his jaw instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com) or [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

Killian starts to pull away, ready to eviscerate whomever had interrupted such a pivotal moment, but David laughs and reaches up to hold him in place. Killian’s stomach tightens pleasantly as he wraps an arm around David’s waist, finally hauling him as close as possible. David’s fingers tangle in his hair as Killian moves his mouth to David’s throat to feel the vibration of his laughter.

David’s fingers sift through Killian’s hair soothingly. He twirls his index finger around the cowlick at Killian’s nape, humming softly when Killian opens his mouth against David’s pulse point. David’s heartbeat pounds beneath his lips, and Killian feels a slight tremble in his hand that he covers by running it along the contours of David's muscles.

They fit better than Killian had dared to imagine, though he’d tried many times to picture this exact moment. David is solid against him, as strong as Killian had wagered. He smells like the sea breeze. Killian could stand here forever, face pressed to the juncture between David neck and shoulder, arms wrapped around his strong back with David’s hands in his hair.

At the same time, he wants to kiss David so badly but knows the timing has become all wrong. He exhales unsteadily before biting down on David’s collarbone lightly.

David laughs again, using his grip in Killian’s hair to tip his head back and glare teasingly.

“Watch the teeth, Captain.”

Killian watches him from under half-lidded eyes, lingering on the teeth marks on his lower lip. Killian flashes so hot so fast, he has to divert his gaze to his own teeth prints on David’s neck. He’s just leaning in to make them more prominent when David catches him by the chin. Killian glances up questioningly, but David’s attention is focused on his mouth.

“David,” he starts to object but loses his words as David tilts his chin upward.

“You’re real bad at remembering your promises to me. I was promised a demonstration of your kissing skills, but so far it’s been nothing but teeth.” David smiles at him wickedly, tugging Killian half a step closer. “I’m not impressed, pirate.”

For the life of him, Killian can’t think of a rejoinder to this, so he gapes at David blankly. David snorts a laugh, bending down to brush his mouth over Killian’s.

And suddenly, it’s not funny anymore. David’s palms press to his cheeks, keeping him close. Killian inhales sharply, kissing David back with an enthusiasm that borders on biting. He needs to claim David’s mouth; to turn David’s tentative kiss into a messy, amorous exchange.

Killian tightens his grip on David’s waist, insinuating a knee between David’s own. David is so warm, every inch of him burning into Killian’s skin where they’re fitted together. Killian smoothes his tongue along the indents in David’s lower lip, tasting the sharp tang of salt that’s ever present on the open sea.  

Killian opens his mouth, blatantly encouraging David to do the same, when the crashing sound from before breaks them apart again.  

David pulls away with a sharp breath, disentangling himself from Killian’s grasp and returning his attention to the source of the commotion. Killian presses fleeting kisses to the parts of David he can still reach, roaming from his throat, across his collarbone to his shoulder. He catches hold of David’s hand to keep him from moving too far, smiling in response to the heated look David shoots him. He touches his tongue to his lip briefly and Killian groans. David holds his gaze steadily, color high in his cheeks.

Killian tears his eyes away from David's oh-so-becoming flush in time to witness his entire crew stumbling out onto the deck, engaged in what appears to be a massive brawl. Several of them are shouting, but their words are slurred enough as to be incomprehensible. Drunk, then.

Killian sighs heavily, tugging David close long enough to bury his face in David’s shaggy hair for a last intimate moment.

David's smile lingers as Killian squeezes his hand and steps around him, walking across the deck to the mouth of the stairwell.

“What's this?" he asks in a booming voice, startling his crew into silence. They straighten sheepishly, releasing the various holds they have on one another. Killian watches, unimpressed, as they attempt to righten their appearances.

"Refresh my memory," Killian continues when none of the men seem eager to answer his question. "Did I not request that the lot of you remain below for the duration of my lesson with David? And, forgive me if I'm mistaken, have I yet to send word to indicate the completion of said lesson?" Throats are cleared and gazes lowered as Killian turns his attention to each man in turn.

Once again, no one moves to reply and Killian sighs self pityingly, wondering how he managed to be saddled with the most spineless lot of purportedly fearsome pirates on the high seas.

Spineless and stupid, he thinks, watching them shuffle aimlessly from foot to foot.  Apart from Smee, none of his men are even slightly useful to him. He could pull workers at random from any port within sailing distance and put together a more talented bunch. The fact that he hasn't cast this riffraff out to sea is proof of his damnably tender heart.

Killian wants to rail at his crew, but David's presence at his back as he steps close is so much more important than taking his men to task for their inability to follow direction.  He clears his throat to recapture their attention, reluctant eyes raising to meet his.

"I've decided that I don't care to know what happened here or why. I do, however, care to see that you aren't allowed to believe this behavior is acceptable. Therefore, you're all now being punished."

Killian grins at the collective groan that meets his words. His punishments are notoriously mindless and excruciating.

"Enough," he barks, when the muttering hasn't subsided after several moments. "You've no one to blame but yourselves. Now, hop to and begin mending the spare mainsail."

The men gradually disperse to begin their punishment, mumbling all the while. David makes like he means to follow, falling in step with Mullins. He laughs at something the other man says, and Killian frowns. Those two have become disturbingly chummy of late, Killian notes, with no small amount of jealousy.

Actions dictated almost entirely by his possessiveness, Killian quickly moves between David and the rest of the crew. He's not sure where the man thinks he's going, but he intends to set him straight on matters.

"Going somewhere, Dave?" Killian intones, placing his palm on David's chest restrictively. David gives him a queer look, eyes still alight from his earlier laughter. He tilts his head, causing his unruly hair to fall into his eyes, and leans into Killian's touch slightly.

"Just following orders, Captain." A wry smile accompanies David's words, making Killian want to repeat his attempts at kissing him. It's astounding, really, how quickly his number one priority had shifted from getting David to speak to him to getting David to kiss him.

It's frightening and decidedly unpirate like of him, but Killian can't help the sappy way he responds to David. But he wonders if he can’t resolve to hide it a little better, lest his crew begin to think less of him. Killian curls his fingers down into the fabric of David's shirt briefly before shoving him away.

"Yes well," he clears his throat, straightening up. "Hop to then."

David shakes his head, turning back to join the men and muttering something under his breath that Killian chooses to ignore. He's the captain, after all. He doesn't need to justify his actions to anyone, especially a newcomer like David.

Which is why Killian doesn't feel the need to explain why he chooses to stay above deck while the men work, when usually he'd retire to his quarters. Let them think what they will; he knows the truth. He's staying to ensure that David is acquiring the skill set necessitated by a seafaring life.

Leaning against the railing next to the ship's wheel, Killian watches David on the deck below with a tightness in his chest. David's mouth is stretched in a crooked grin as he recounts some tale to the men, arms waving about for emphasis. He's too far away for Killian to make out his words, but the crew is laughing like David is the most delightful person they've ever known. Killian is familiar with the sentiment.

Killian’s mind flips through a hundred different reasons to pull David away from the rest of the men and into his cabin, but each excuse is more far-fetched than the last. When he starts contemplating how fake-sick is sick enough to warrant David’s assistance below, but not sick enough to prompt subsequent checkups from his men, Killian finally admits defeat. Frustrated, he pushes away from the rail with a sigh, pulling charts from his satchel at random.

Killian has to hand it to them, his crew has impeccable timing. They have always seemed to know exactly when Killian is in the midst of a situation of an ardent nature, and choose that moment to put an appearance. Even when Milah was on board-

Killian cuts off that line of thought with an irritated shake of his head. Since David’s been aboard, Killian has been quite successful at warding off thoughts of his ill-fated love affair with his beautiful Milah.

For years after her death, Killian had been stuck in a cycle of self-recrimination followed by a murderous desire for revenge. He spent his days combing ports from world to world for a hint as to how to defeat the crocodile who’d taken Milah from him, and his nights drinking until blackness consumed him in order to keep the guilt from doing so instead. Killian had been convinced he was unworthy of a second chance at happiness, given how poorly he’d protected his first shot. And even if some divine entity had seen fit to grant him such a gift, Killian was sure he’d never have an interest in love again.

But then came David. Killian surfaces from his thoughts to focus on the man again, mouth curling into a half smile as he watches David learning to wield a hand awl. His face is set in grim determination, his naturally serious disposition lending itself to the lesson quite well.

As is always the case when he looks at David, Killian’s breath is difficult to draw. He can’t remember having such a reaction to anyone, and wonders sometimes if there is more to his attraction to David than meets the eye. Killian is usually innately suspicious and knows that such a reaction to another person is often the result of some enchantment or potion. But looking at David now, he can’t bring himself to belief some duplicitous design is at work. His affinity for David is based purely on fate, Killian is sure of it.

As though he can hear Killian’s thoughts, David looks away from his fairly prosperous attempt at sail mending to seek out Killian’s gaze. He smiles brightly before inclining his head toward the sail in his hands, eyebrows raised as if to say “how ‘bout this, huh?” Killian shrugs disdainfully before beaming back and David laughs. His eyes roam over Killian slowly and Killian swears he can feel the gaze moving across his skin. David bites his lip briefly before turning his scrutiny back to his work.

Killian wants to bring David’s attention back to himself, shouting his name playfully.

“David!”

Killian hears himself call David’s name, but when he opens his eyes, he’s not looking out across the deck of the Jolly Roger. He’s staring up at a dark ceiling, legs tangled in the sheets of a makeshift bed in some dingy cabin at the edge of some bloody forest. He blows out a breath, rubbing a hand across his eyes roughly.

Another bloody dream about his stupid prince. They’ve been coming more frequently of late, almost as often as they had in the first months after David had been torn away from him. Though to call them dreams is a bit of a misrepresentation. Every scene Killian sees in his sleep is an actual memory, recalled from the far too brief time spent with his "true love".

The dreams have played out almost entirely sequentially, starting from the moment he and David met. Killian is torn between dread and excitement every time he closes his eyes. On one hand, these dreams are his only chance at seeing David, but on the other, they serve no purpose other than to widen the gnawing chasm of loneliness in his chest.

Killian gazes at the ceiling unseeingly, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He runs over the details of his latest dream in his mind, imagining that he can still smell David’s windblown hair, can still feel his warm skin beneath his fingers, can hear David’s deep laughter in his ears.

Suddenly, a voice comes to him through the darkness, and Killian jumps in surprise before scowling at Cora’s distinctive simpering tone. He can just make out her shape against the door to the bedroom.

“I thought I heard shouting and came to check on you. Oh my dear captain, were you having a nightmare?”

Killian had forgotten, for just a moment, what he was doing in the ramshackle hut in this cursed world. He briefly considers ignoring the question posed of him, rolling over to face the wall at his right, but knows his silence will only encourage the hateful woman to continue speaking to him.

“The dream was actually quite pleasant,” Killian says softly, closing his eyes again. “It’s my reality that’s a nightmare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com/) or [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

 

When Killian next wakes, it's the result of yet another dream about David, though this one was more fanciful than factual. His slumber had been filled with half-formed snippets of David’s mouth, detailing against Killian’s ear, in his low, gruff voice, exactly how he wants to get Killian off. Killian feels the sharp bite of his teeth and the slow grind of his hips in the weightless moments between wake and sleep. His own painful intake of breath as dream-David slicks a hand past the waist of his trousers finally rouses him fully.

Killian groans despairingly, pressing the heel of his hand to the problem that type of dream often elicits. Killian doesn't even want to think about how long it's been since he'd had someone, namely David, around to help resolve such an issue.

He indulges the fantasy for a moment, remembering the lightness of David's irises barely liming his blown pupils when he would press close, reaching for the belt holding Killian's sword to his side. If he tries, Killian can recapture the deep timbre of David's voice as he tells Killian, in hushed, reverent tones, just how beautiful he is. Killian always agreed, and the thought of David’s breathless laughter causes his stomach to clench in a mixture of arousal and longing.

Killian's just begun to wonder if he has enough time to address his predicament before Cora awakes, trying to judge the time based on the amount of light filtering through the cabin's filthy curtains, when he hears the accursed woman's voice beckoning him from beyond the front door.

 _And just like that, the matter resolves itself,_  Killian thinks bitterly, sitting up with difficulty after a night spent on a mattress that wouldn't have been comfortable the day it was crafted, let alone what has to be a century later. He pulls his boots on with a sigh, convinced that no one has a more rotten time of it than he does.

He stumbles to the door, bleary-eyed, as Cora calls to him a second time. Her tone is impatient, and Killian snaps at her as he steps outside.

"I'm not your bloody dog. I don't have to come running when you call." He stands before Cora, arms crossed protectively over his chest.

Killian knows she’s incised when Cora doesn’t bother with her usual simpering tone. She crooks a finger at him irritably, reaching to tuck it under his vest when Killian steps closer. He feels a thrill of trepidation, gazing down into her unnerving eyes. It’s times like these he wonders why he ever agreed to throw his lot in with a bloody sadistic wicked witch. It’s no wonder her own daughter tried to off the bitch.

Killian keeps his chin turned up as Cora tugs him down, putting her lips near his ear to breathe one of her notorious threats.

“For as long as I am helping you, you _belong_ to me, Captain. And you shall run, jump, even bark like a dog if I so desire.”

Killian squeezes his eyes shut to repress a shudder, knowing he can’t refute her claim. He tries to remember the mission here.

_Get back to David. Once you have him, none of this matters._

Cora releases him and Killian stumbles back swiftly. He pushes a hand through his hair, an unconscious nervous gesture he’d picked up from David. One of which he couldn’t seem to rid himself.

Satisfied that he’s been properly cowed, Cora turns away to face the rising sun.

“They’re here,” she says simply, and Killian’s heart comes to rest somewhere in the vicinity of his adam’s apple. So that’s why the sudden urgency for him to wake at a decent hour, when for weeks he’d been milling about aimlessly, awaiting the fulfillment of yet another of Cora’s dastardly plots.

Killian isn’t exactly sure what this one consists of, seeing as he’s never paid the closest attention to Cora’s increasingly deranged monologues on her intentions to return her wayward daughter to the fold. Judging by the fact that Regina was just as murderously mental as her mum, Killian didn’t hold out much hope for success.

But he played his part, because doing so is his ticket to another world, one in which David exists.

Killian inhales shakily, wondering what David is doing at this moment. If it’s morning where he is. Could he be watching a sunrise, mulling over his dreams of Killian from the night before?

Killian gets lost in imaging it. David wouldn’t need to deny himself the gratification of a leisurely morning wank. Killian can picture David’s long, rough fingers perfectly, wandering slowly down to grip-

Killian snorts at himself derisively, abandoning that train of thought with reluctance. He knows it’s impossible for David to even be thinking of him at all, let alone in such an amorous manner. The crocodile had made sure of that.

At the sound of Killian’s rough exhalation, Cora whirls around, thinking it had been directed at her. He raises his hand placatingly as she glares.

“That’s brilliant,” he offers with a weak smile. No reason to provoke her when he’s so near his goal. “So what needs to happen now?”

Cora eyes him suspiciously before releasing a belabored sigh. The air is suddenly tense with magic, making it hard for Killian to draw a full breath. He has no interest in what Cora is using it for; his disdain for magic had bloomed into full-blown hatred after David’s departure from his world.

“Now,” Cora says softly, refocusing her attention on Killian, “now, we need to get you into position.”

Killian nods shortly, relieved that he at least knows the part he has to play next. If his palms begin to sweat at the thought, he convinces himself it’s due to the sun’s increased presence in the sky. It has nothing at all to do with the fact that he’s about to come face-to-face with the woman to whom _his_ David has belonged all these long years, ever since he was lost to Killian. No, he was quite prepared for that confrontation.

\--x--

He realizes, far too late, that there was one encounter for which he was not prepared. And that was coming face to face with David’s daughter.

His interest in Snow White shrinks to nothing once he's caught sight of the one person he'd hoped would never make an appearance. Now, for the life of him, he can't remember why he'd felt that way.

Killian stares at her, the character he and Cora had carefully concocted threatening to slip away. Looking at David's child is as close as he has come to seeing David in nearly thirty years. All rational thought is lost as Killian gapes at her, taking in the blue of her eyes, her light hair, stiff posture, the cocky tilt to her head. Memories crash over him like waves against the Jolly Roger's hull in a storm. It’s as though he’s looking at a reincarnation of David himself.

Her mouth twists warily as she glares down at him, and Killian half expects her voice to come out deep and grainy, each syllable laced with suspicion. It doesn’t, but it isn’t enough to shatter the illusion completely.

Killian has no proof of the girl’s paternity, as she hadn’t greeted him with a handshake and a quick “how do you do, I’m David’s daughter” but he doesn’t need to see a birth certificate to know this is her. Glancing at the much anticipated vestige of the Snow White princess to David’s own Prince Charming, Killian is hard pressed to find even a trace of her in their daughter. She is the spitting image of her father. The fire behind her eyes is identical to the flames he saw in David's, from the moment they met and in every confrontation thereon.

Killian searches for a trace of her mother in the beautiful woman, but can’t seem to find one. Perhaps her pleasantly rounded cheeks, but even that is reminiscent of David. As is her bowed mouth, squared jaw, right down to the slight cleft of her chin. His heart makes to pound out of his chest. Killian is convinced this ragtag hunting party can see it beating against the thin fabric of his shirt.

Because this feels like the beginning of everything. Because, despite his best efforts, Killian hadn’t managed to block out all of Cora’s rambling speeches. In fact, he occasionally caught himself listening in when she set off on a tangent about the world Regina currently terrorized. Therefore, he’s abreast of David’s family situation. He’d known years ago, of course, that David had married the much lauded beauty that was Snow White. He’d known about the pregnancy. And, eventually, he’d learned about the curse that had sent them all away. His anguish had grown exponentially with each revelation.

But thanks to Cora, Killian is aware of the turmoil David and his bride had been put through, the loss and tentative regaining of their beloved daughter. His heart aches sympathetically for David’s plight. 

Said prodigal daughter is currently speaking to him, and Killian tunes into her words in time to catch a tone with which he is very familiar. It seems she's inherited David's authoritative, demanding presence as well. He wants to both laugh and cry with relief, the girl's harsh demands to know his identity lost on him as he realizes that finally,  _finally_ , he is nearly within reach of David. David’s very _flesh_ is stood before him, and Killian wants to touch her if only to see if she possesses David’s radiating warmth. He sincerely hopes she does. Killian’s felt the chill of his absence for thirty years. He wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Realizing that he’s been silent for a beat too long since David’s hazy clone stopped talking, Killian musters up his best pitiful grimace. He can’t afford to screw this up now. This delightful apparition is his key to finding his happy ending.

_Wonder if little miss spitfire would be adverse to father dearest running off with a pirate?_

\--x--

Killian knows he’s doing it. He can feel it in every sway of his hips, every curl of his mouth. Can hear it when he purrs as opposed to speaking, can taste the innuendo dripping from his smug lips. He’s…well, he’s attempting to _woo_ Emma. Blatantly. Unabashedly. Every ounce of his swashbuckling charm oozing from him, muddling the air.

What he doesn’t know is how to turn it bloody well off.

David used to tell him he turned it on for everyone, and Killian would grin back and blow him kisses, obnoxiously, until David snorted a laugh. He didn’t need David’s jealous insight into his behavior. Killian knows he’s shameless.

But it never means anything. Killian will toss a wink and an offhand comment into conversation, rightly assuming it will help him obtain whatever he happens to be angling for. It’s meaningless and inconsequential. When pressed, Killian can usually never even remember the names of the people he touches, smiles at, subtly propositions. A flirt isn't a shag, as he told David countless times.

This feels different. This feels less like a tactic and more...something. Real, if you will. And Killian's fairly certain he knows why.

Because whenever Emma fixes him with a glare, tosses her hair out of her eyes, plants both hands on her hips, all Killian sees is David. It's in the stubborn tilt of her jaw. It's the way she addresses him around tightly grit teeth. The flashing of her blue eyes is identical to the ire in David's own, and Killian wants to cup her face in his hand while he drinks his fill of it.

Even without entering a dream, Killian finds himself transported back to the earliest days of his acquaintance with David. The overtly doting comments and (metaphorical) batting of lashes comes naturally, as does his delight when Emma reacts in the same fashion as David had, many years before.

He forgets where he is, what he’s doing, getting lost in the thrill of having his words affect someone so remarkably similar to David in such an uncanny manner. He might forget that it isn’t David he’s winding up.

Killian’s currently watching Emma climb the damned beanstalk resolutely, mouth set in a grim line. He’s delighted with himself and his persuasive ability to get her up here in the first place.

“First beanstalk? Well, you never forget your first. You know, most men would take your silence as off-putting, but I love a challenge.”

Killian wants to smack himself even as the words leave his rotten mouth, but can’t spare the hand in their current predicament. And to use his hook would be all manner of disastrous.

As it is, he accepts Emma’s well called for glare with an inclined head.

“I’m concentrating.”

Emma’s response is clipped, and Killian feels his hackles rise. He’s never been able to back down once it’s clear that his presence is unwelcome.

So he pushes. The way he always has. Despite having thirty years of solidarity to work on himself, Killian hasn’t managed to become a much better man than the one David had known. Thankfully, David hadn’t minded sleeping with an utter twat.

“No, you’re afraid. Afraid to talk, to reveal yourself. Trust me, things’ll be a lot smoother if you do.”

Emma spares him another look. “You should be used to people not trusting you.”

_Your father trusted me just fine. Utterly and completely and-_

Killian bites his tongue on the reply he wants to make, mocking Emma gently instead.

“Ah, the pirate thing. Well, I don’t need you to share. You’re something of an open book.” Killian knows how to play to his audience, and gleefully observes the impact his words have on Emma. She hates him.

Her piercing glare is another thing she has in common with David. Add it to the list.

“Am I?” she asks tightly, grip never faltering as she continues hauling herself up the beanstalk. Killian would be impressed if he weren’t so busy taking the piss.

“Quite. Let’s see, you volunteered to come up here because you were the most motivated. You need to get back to a child.”

Emma scoffs. “That’s not perception. That’s eavesdropping.”

Killian nods in a pacifying manner. “Ah, but you don’t want to abandon him the way you were abandoned.”

Emma’s sharp look doesn’t go unnoticed, but Killian is staring serenely off into the distance. The view is rather spectacular, but he hasn’t a thought to spare for it.

“Was I?”

Killian turns back to meet Emma’s gaze once more, smiling softly.

“Like I said, an open book.” Emma’s eyes grow to further resemble David’s the more he looks, or maybe his memories are just cloudy enough to allow him to think so. Either way, they’re a sight to behold.

He’s so busy trying to decide if it’s memory or wishful thinking that he almost misses Emma’s next question.

“How would you know that?” Her nose wrinkles disdainfully as she speaks, as though he’s unworthy of her time, and Killian knows that’s all the royal haughtiness of her mother.

He considers his words carefully before replying.

“I spent many years in Neverland, home of the Lost Boys. They all share the same look in their eyes. The look you get when you’ve been left alone.” _The look I see in the mirror every morning._

Emma’s tone is dismissive when she responds. “Yeah, well, my world ain’t Neverland.”

Killian is eternally thankful for that. No one should have to call that hellhole home.

“But an orphan’s an orphan. Love has been all too rare in your life, hasn’t it? You ever even been in love?” Killian isn’t sure what makes him ask, just that this is David’s daughter and she’s here and she’s been with David recently and Killian wants to know everything.

Emma is quiet for a long time. Killian watches her unobtrusively, feeling suddenly contrite. This is David’s daughter, yet she was raised outside of the warmth of David’s loving flame. She was alone, much like Killian himself, except he at least knew that love before it was taken. Emma wasn’t given a chance. And it seems she’s never had any chance at happiness.

Finally, she shakes her head. “No. I have never been in love.”

Killian’s chest feels constricted as he looks at Emma. The daughter of the man he loves deserves so much more. She deserves everything. He kicks himself for spending so many years resenting her existence. Now, all he wants to do is protect her while David isn’t here to do it himself.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Emma,” he says softly, hoping his eyes convey his sincerity. “To love and be loved is unlike any magic in this world. Or the next,” he adds with a smile, seeing her open her mouth to reply.

She nods shortly, like she doesn’t quite believe him. “You’ve been in love then?” she asks, avoiding his eyes.

Killian looks away then, eyes focused unseeingly on the land as it sprawls below. Now that he’s not looking at her, he feels Emma’s eyes on the back of his head, waiting for an answer.

“I have,” he says softly. “Deeper and stronger than I could have imagined.”

Killian hears Emma sigh and wants to smile, but loses himself in one more memory.

_They’re lying in Killian’s bed, David’s arm wrapped lazily around Killian as he bites at David’s chest playfully. They’re basking in afterglow, horribly sappy as it may be, but Killian is seriously considering never letting David out of his cabin again._

_David hums disapprovingly when Killian sinks his teeth in particularly hard on the raised skin of some long forgotten scar._

_“Watch the teeth, Captain.”_

_Killian grins at the familiar sentiment, kissing the mark in apology. He glances up to find David’s eyes closed, his hand tracing sleepy patterns on Killian’s side. He pinches gently when he feels Killian staring, and Killian huffs a laugh._

_And it’s good. It’s so unbelievably good, being with David like this. It’s good in a way that Killian never thought it would be again, or maybe it’s good in a way it never has been. All he knows is he doesn’t want it to end._

_Eventually, Killian abandons his attempt to cover every inch of David’s chest in lovebites, crawling up to tuck his head under David’s chin. He tosses a leg over David’s waist possessively, feels David shift to bring him closer, arm curled around his back._

_David’s breathing is shallow, and Killian knows he’s moments away from sleep. Killian has the sudden urge to shake him, to keep him awake for as long as possible. He’s loathe to sacrifice a moment of time with David, even to such a necessity as sleep._

_David apparently senses Killian’s struggle. He rouses reluctantly, slipping his free hand into Killian’s hair._

_“What is it, Kil?” David’s voice is sleep-rough, dragging over Killian’s nerves._

_Killian presses his face to David’s neck, exhaling slowly. He shan’t be selfish. David is obviously exhausted._

_“Nothing love, sleep now. Smee is sure to come bursting in at some ungodly hour tomorrow.”_

_David reacts to the words in the opposite manner of their intent. He sits up slightly, bringing Killian with him. Killian shivers at the strength in David’s arms, muscles flexing as he sets Killian back from him a bit. He’s never been one for blatant displays of masculinity, but to him, everything David does is the epitome of sexiness. This is no exception._

_Killian finds his eyes drawn to the littering of purple and red bruises on David’s chest, stupidly proud of his handiwork. David’s hand in his hair tips Killian’s head back to meet his eyes, and Killian pretends he doesn’t feel a thrill every time David manhandles him._

_“Try again,” David demands huskily. “What’s wrong? What do you have against sleep? Especially well-earned sleep, after such an athletic display as that?”_

_Killian feels his cheeks heat up. David is the only person Killian’s ever known that can cause him to blush. He loves him for it._

_Well, he loves him for everything._

_David is awaiting an answer, patience obviously wearing out, betrayed by the thinning of his mouth. Killian leans in to kiss the tension away, pulling David’s bottom lip between his own._

_“Don’t wanna miss you,” he murmurs into the kiss, skimming the pads of his fingers over the shell of David’s ear. It causes David to crush him close, getting the reaction he was looking for this time._

_The hand in Killian’s hair slips around to rest against his cheek, thumb fitting into the corner of Killian’s mouth. Killian smiles, licking at it teasingly, and David curses before pulling away. He watches Killian through hooded eyes, seeming determined to speak. Killian gives him a moment, running his hand along David’s broad shoulders distractedly._

_David catches his hand on its third pass, pressing the knuckles to his lips briefly before pulling the index finger into his mouth. Killian laughs, throat suddenly dry, and swats David with his hook. David smiles back before dropping his eyes, thumb brushing over the pulse in Killian’s wrist. He bites his lip, furrowed brow always a tell that he's struggling with the words._

_Killian watches him, the soft flutter of his eyelashes heartbreakingly sweet, while the redness of his mouth makes Killian want to plunge into all kinds of sinful behavior. Killian wraps his free arm around David's neck, carefully pressing the very tip of his hook into the tanned skin of his shoulder._

_David shudders lightly, bringing Killian's hand back to his mouth to kiss the palm. His next words are mumbled around the well-callused flesh._

_“I love you, you know? So bad.”_

_He says it quietly, but with such conviction. David has always been a delightful paradox of bashful and confident._

_And Killian loves him._

_Killian clenches his fingers in David’s, heart kicking up in the base of his throat. He cycles through a hundred different ways to respond to that, starting with throwing David to the bed for an enthusiastic confirmation and settling on his tried and true sarcasm._

_He smiles when David meets his eye sheepishly._

_“I know.”_

_It ends up that Killian is the one thrown to the bed, but he isn’t too fussed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com/) or [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

 -x-

Killian would never describe himself as a patient man, even in the best of circumstances. And these certainly are not the best of circumstances.

Killian has been fidgety and on edge all day, ever since his kiss with David on the deck. All he wants is to squire David away to his cabin, keep him there until the Jolly Roger has sailed the world twice over, and only let him out to regain that fabulous dark tan of his. The one that brings out the blue of his eyes, painting freckles across his nose and highlighting his dirty blond hair.

He watches David down below with the men, fingers of his good hand twitching impatiently on the ship's railing. Killian's growing more frustrated by the moment, gritting his teeth as David purposefully glances his way, eyelids fluttering coyly.

Ruddy tease. The bastard has been catching Killian's attention all day, only to avert his gaze coquettishly once he has it. Killian hasn't missed the extra sway to his hips or gratuitous touches shared with the crew, either. He has, however, had just about enough of all of it.

Every time the two of them were near, David would brush fingertips along Killian's skin before dancing just out of reach when Killian made to grab him close. He'd bite his lip and fuss with his hair and basically do everything within his power to ensure that Killian has been half-hard in his trousers all damn day.

Watching now as David throws his head back in laughter for the umpteenth time, eyes sparkling as he checks to make sure Killian sees, Killian takes matters into his own hands.

Well, hand and hook, as it were.

He relishes the surprise on David's face when he marches across the deck, coming to rest at David's side and clamping a hand on his arm possessively. The rest of the crew watches with little interest as Killian drags David away.

"Carry on lads!" Killian barks shortly, drowning out David's feeble protests at Killian's handling of him. Killian admits that it is becoming a bit of a habit, hauling David off to his cabin without warning. Or consent.

But if the way David presses against him once they're out of sight is any indication, Killian thinks he doesn't really mind all that much.

Killian yanks David through the door to his cabin, turning immediately to shove him back against it, door slamming shut.

Killian fists his hand in David's shirt as he stretches up that short distance to kiss him, all gentleness and timidity gone after an afternoon of taunting foreplay. He's almost brutal in his handling of David, tracing his tongue along the seam of his lips until they part and then biting his way inside.

David breaks the kiss after a moment with a laugh, pressing his face to Killian's neck, panting for breath. He bites Killian lightly below his ear and Killian groans.

"A bit eager, are we?" David asks, pulling away to smile into Killian's eyes. Killian smiles back, but it's tight with anticipation. He presses David into the wall a little harder, savoring the gust of air he exhales.

Looking at him, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, Killian can't help kissing him again. He lingers, coaxing David with teeth and tongue until he echoes Killian's moan.

"I believe we're equally desperate, Dave. Which is understandable, considering the copious amounts of teasing taking place above all day." Killian punctuates his statement with a sharper bite than the one David had given him, and David's reply is broken by a gasp.

"I wasn't- fuck- I wasn't _teasing_ ," he stresses pointedly. "I was flirting."

"Flirting with driving me entirely mental, maybe." Killian kisses David again before he can protest, hand snaking between them to thumb at David's belt buckle.

If he expects David to press into the touch, Killian is horribly mistaken. David freezes before breaking away from his advances, leaning back into the wall to distance himself.

Killian seeks his eyes immediately, only to find David peering back at him with trepidation, teeth worrying his lower lip, as they're apt to do.

Killian's heart sinks, replaying his actions quickly for any trace of a misstep that would bring about such an abrupt shift in mood. David had to have known where he was heading with all this.

"What's wrong, love? What happened?" He strives to keep the whine from his voice, but isn't convinced of his success when David flinches slightly. David must sense Killian's despair, for he rushes to clarify.

"No nothing happened! It's just...I haven't..." David gestures between them vaguely. "You know."

Killian's brow wrinkles skeptically.

"Ever?"

His incredulous tone pulls David's face into a familiar scowl, and Killian grins in spite of the serious atmosphere.

"Of course ever," David huffs indignantly, moving back toward Killian subtly. "Just not...like this. With you. Or someone like you. I mean, obviously I've thought about it. A lot. But I've never actually done ... anything." He pauses, taking a deep breath, apparently needing to psych himself up for whatever else he's about to say.

Killian interrupts before he can begin, knowing David's propensity for rambling when given half the chance.

"You've not had sex with a man," he states simply, delighting in the flush of David's cheeks at his bluntness. "It's alright darling, most men haven't."

"But you have." It's not a question, so Killian doesn't bother to give an answer before David continues. "It's just intimidating, that's all."

Killian's blackened heart feels too big for his chest when David drops his gaze shyly. He tucks his fingers under David's chin, lifting his head once more.

"You can't do it wrong, love," he promises softly. David's jaw is tight with unease, but the way he leans into Killian's touch is promising. He seems so unsure that Killian can't help but want to buoy his spirits. He pecks David gently on the corner of his mouth, pulling back to meet his eyes again.

"Look, you've touched yourself before, yeah?" he asks kindly, ignoring David's pointed glare.

"Obviously," David mumbles, skin warming up beneath Killian's hand. He suppresses the spike of lust that accompanies David's affirmation, refusing to indulge in the imagery of David, alone in bed with one hand under the sheets. He just nods encouragingly.

"Right, then this is no different. Perhaps a bit backward, but you'll grow accustomed soon enough."

David still looks uncertain, and Killian knows his thoughts are on more than a mutual wank pressed up against the cabin wall. He runs his hand up David's face, smoothing the hair back from his forehead soothingly.

"We don't have to do anything you're not ready for, David."

Killian meant for his words to have a quelling effect on the moment, tempering the urgency of it all, but they seem to produce the opposite.

David kisses him suddenly, more teeth than Killian is used to, but brilliant all the same. He pauses before returning it hungrily, gripping David's hair rather than petting it.

After a moment of heated snogging, Killian is the one to step away from David this time. He nearly steps right back in at David's dazed expression.

Mustering every ounce of his self-control, Killian raises both arms submissively. It's not a role he usually adopts in any area of his life, let alone the bedroom, but the thrill he feels when David's eyes darken drastically is unmistakable.

"You've got the reins here, David. Or, to use more nautical terminology, you're at the helm."

David considers him for a moment, and Killian wonders if he made a mistake. Perhaps he should have continued his role as aggressor, guiding David through this first encounter.

All of his doubts are assuaged when David smiles, the expression wicked as sin. Though he wants to shudder at the look, Killian doesn't so much as twitch when David moves in, difficult as it is not to touch him.

It's as though Killian's words had released the strings holding David back. His movements are no longer tentative as David takes Killian's shoulders in a tight grip, maneuvering him to the edge of the heretofore unused bed against the wall. He presses down lightly, and Killian sinks to the mattress without protest.

David remains standing above him, and the change in angle forces Killian to tip his head back to see David's face. It's worth the effort though, as Killian can clearly see the effect he's had on his inexperienced crew member.

David's color is high, breath coming in deep gasps in the stuffy cabin. His pupils are blown wide, though Killian can still see the pale blue he so adores. David clenches and unclenches his jaw, eyes running across Killian slowly. His gaze burns wherever it lands, finally settling, of all places, on Killian's feet.

"Boots off," he says lowly, and Killian realizes it's been awhile since he's spoken. His voice has transformed into pure sex. Killian never wants to hear it any differently.

"Bossy, are we?" he teases, more breathless than he'd like but powerless to stop it. David leans in then, hands back on Killian's shoulders.

"Boots off, please," David intones huskily, his lips brushing Killian's in a faint whisper of a kiss.

Killian groans at that, rushing to comply. He yanks the boots off unceremoniously as David steps back to watch. He looks at David expectantly when he's finished.

David runs his hands down his thighs, an unconscious gesture, but Killian is overwhelmed with the need to feel those hands on his own skin. He's ready to demand as much before he remembers that he'd handed control over to David. So he simply leans back on his elbows invitingly, awaiting his next instruction.

David swallows visibly, ever the clashing combination of cool confidence and stuttering schoolboy. "Shirt too," he says finally, straightening up with renewed determination.

Killian smiles devilishly, making a show out of following David's command. He pulls each button through its hole slowly, gaze never leaving David's. He slides his fingers down his torso enticingly as he goes, eliciting gooseflesh on his own skin.

David steps close when Killian finally shrugs the shirt from his shoulders, baring his neck when he leans back to look at David again. He spreads his legs as David comes to stand between them, fingers ghosting down Killian's chest reverently.

Killian tips his head, angling for a kiss. David makes like he means to appease him, but then he catches Killian completely by surprise.

Killian has always thought of it as ridiculous expression before, but now he feels he's in legitimate danger of swallowing his tongue as David drops to his knees in front of him.

He must emit some sort of involuntary choking sound, as David glances up with an expression of concern. Killian waves a hand in reassurance, unable to speak, and David grins knowingly. He's far cheekier than any first timer has right to be.

Killian threads his fingers through the mop of hair at the crown of David's head as David leans in, pressing his nose to Killian's hipbone and inhaling deeply. The hands that clasp Killian's thighs are shaking slightly, and Killian is pleased that David obviously isn't unaffected.

Killian holds his breath as David nuzzles lightly, pressing a kiss to Killian's bare abdomen and pulling at the fine hairs below Killian's navel with his teeth. Killian reacts to that violently, jerking in David's grip.

David's only reaction is to hold him down harder, tongue dipping boldly beneath the waist of Killian's trousers.

Killian thinks he might black out for a second, never imagining that David could go from wavering to recklessly bold in the space of a heartbeat. The man is a mystery to him.

Killian blames his current lack of higher brain function when it takes him an inordinate amount of time to realize that David has stopped his advances, that the delightful buzzing under his skin is a result of David's laughter, muffled in the V of his hip.

Killian gapes down at him as David's laughter turns hysterical, his shoulders shaking with it.

"May I ask what the hell you find so bloody amusing?" Killian gasps, incensed. Mortifyingly, and despite his attempt at offense, David's deep laugh is only serving to turn him on further.

David shakes his head desperately, nose rubbing against Killian's stomach. He kisses every inch of Killian he can reach, apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chokes out, glancing up at Killian, eyes wet with mirth. "It just struck me how unbelievable this is. Not even that long ago I tried to kill you in this bed. And now all I want is to fuck you in it."

Killian attempts to hide his visceral reaction to David's words, knowing it's far too soon to take that step in their relationship. They'd only just begun touching each other, for godsake. Still, the idea is far from unwelcome, and it takes Killian a moment to regain the ability to speak.

"Confident, are we?" he croaks, suppressing what he really wants to say ( _yes David gods yes, now?_ ). "Let's prove you can put that smart mouth of yours to good use first, hm?"

He receives a bite for his tone, but all in all feels it was the right decision.

David's hands move from Killian's legs to his waist, thumbs pressing into the fleshy bit of his sides. The touch is rough, and Killian relishes the thought that there may be bruises tomorrow.

Killian's eyes are on David's movements, but he can feels David's own gaze on his face. He catches the look questioningly, but David just grins at him.

"You're beautiful," he says simply.

Killian scoffs. "I'm not a bloody bird, David. And I'm certainly not beautiful. Ruggedly handsome, perhaps." Despite his protest, Killian's stomach had fluttered pleasantly at David's praise.

David looks up at him, considering. Finally, he shakes his head.

"Nah, beautiful's better." Thus decided, he turns his attention back to the task at hand. Killian hasn't the breath to argue when David's mouth returns to the skin above his trousers. He tightens his grip on Killian, running his tongue across the expanse of Killian's waist. And then he pulls back. Again.

Killian wants to smash his head against the wall behind him.

"What now, love?" he grits out, the endearment sounding more like a threat. David notices, tutting at him in disapproval.

"I'm not sure there's much else I can do with these pants in the way," David explains. There's a beat of silence, then David's mouth curls into a wicked smirk.

Killian does toss his head back then, speaking his next words to the cabin's dome. "Only you would take that as a challenge, Dave."

David laughs again, shuffling forward on his knees until his broad shoulders are bracketed by Killian's spread thighs. He reaches up to knot a hand in Killian's hair, pulling him down into an awkwardly positioned kiss.

Killian loses himself in it, despite the discomfort. He's swept up in the glide of David's tongue on the roof of his mouth, the sharp breaths David takes through his nose, the flexing of David's fingers in his hair. He thinks he could continue like this forever, until he feels the first press of David's palm against him.

Killian's head connects with the wall again, eyes squeezed shut. David doesn't seemed perturbed by the abrupt end to their kiss, trailing his lips across Killian's collar as his hand explores Killian's length a little more insistently.

David hums pleasantly as he sucks what is undoubtedly a hideous love bite into Killian's neck, hand never ceasing in its movement. His grip had started out slow, getting a feel for things, but David is now jerking Killian off at moderate pace. It's still unbearably chaste, performed through the fabric of Killian's trousers, but Killian reminds himself that David is running this show. For now. And so Killian will let him set the tone. For now.

Killian wants to speak, to engage David, but it's all he can do to remember to breathe when David dips his head, without preamble, to mouth along Killian's trouser-clad cock.

Though he'd shown no hesitation in bowing his head, now that he's down there, David seems unclear as to what he should do next. His breathing is labored, the warm rush of air driving Killian mad in the few moments that David vacillates.

Killian needs a chance to catch his own breath, so he doesn't push David to get a move on at first. But again, he is not the most patient among men. So after several more tense seconds, Killian nudges David with his knee.

"Would you just-oh fuck, David." Killian interrupts himself as David is prompted into action. He takes just the head into his mouth, dampening the fabric still stretched across Killian's hips.

Killian sends thanks to whoever will listen that he's wearing nothing beneath the trousers, and the thin material does little to mask the blistering heat of David's mouth. And Killian thought his breath was warm...

David sucks once lightly, then again with more vigor once he sees the reaction it garners. Killian is moaning openly now, this fucking tease of head better than anything he can remember.

"Fuck's sake, what happened to the blushing virgin I had in here just moments ago?" Killian's tone is awed, and David's returning chuckle has him seeing stars. Fucking shameful, really, how close he is despite the fact that David has barely touched him.

Killian tightens his hold on David's hair, rocking his hips up experimentally. David stills for a moment before slipping his hands back around Killian's waist. He holds fast, not exactly preventing the movements, but putting them under his control. And he is in control. Killian feels heady with the knowledge that he's about to come apart from merely a couple of rough touches and David's obscene mouth against his clothed length.

Killian pulls him up forcefully, eyes trailing over the redness of David's mouth.

"Would you kindly cease the infernal teasing and suck me proper?" Killian stops just short of begging, biting his tongue against the litany of pleading requests threatening to spill out. He realizes they wouldn't make a bit of difference as David smiles faintly.

"I'm fairly certain I'm still in charge here," David drawls slowly, dragging his thumb along the length of Killian's cock slowly. His eyes flash when Killian's jaw clenches. "And I've decided I want to see you make a mess of these lovely trousers before I'm through."

Killian nearly does, just from hearing David declare it in such a forceful tone. He forces himself to glare at David balefully, though.

"Why'd you have me remove my boots if not to get me out of my pants, then?" Killian strives for his typical haughty tone, knowing it lands more in the vicinity of petulant whining. David shrugs a grin, running his hands down Killian's legs to his bare feet.

"Maybe I have a thing for feet." His eyes say he's teasing, but Killian can't bring himself to call him on it as David traces the arches of his feet where they curve away from the floor. He'll put the mocking aside for later. He's still not over the disappointment of missing out on having David's warm mouth on his actual skin, but he'd submitted himself to David's whim from the beginning. And it's not like the idea of David making him come in his pants for the first time in ages isn't ridiculously appealing.

"Finished questioning my decisions yet?" David asks and Killian shudders lightly at his steely tone, nodding his head absently when David curls back over him. He's quicker about it at least, taking in as much of Killian as he can with the restrictive trousers in the way.

Killian's hips stutter up again, David's hands encouraging the motion. Killian is vaguely aware that he's chanting David's name, but only notices when he sees the way it turns David's ears bright red, causing him to redouble his efforts. Killian nearly shouts at the sensation, the coarse material of his pants almost more than he can stand.

"David, please, I'm going to, just need," Killian babbles incoherently, nearly crying when David pulls away at the words. He doesn't go far, though, stretching up to kiss Killian punishingly hard, hand taking over for his mouth once again.

It doesn't take much, not with how long Killian has wanted this, and how bruisingly David is kissing him. Not with the way David breathes compliments into his mouth ( _so beautiful, feel so good, god, Killian_ ), and how fucking good David smells, filling Killian's senses.

Killian comes with David sucking on his tongue, head swimming with the lack of air and arms clutching David to him desperately. David doesn't slow the motion of his hand until Killian reaches down to stop him with a shudder, and still David kisses him. Kisses him like its the only thing that matters, and Killian is almost convinced that it is until David shifts closer, and Killian feels the clear matter of himself, hard against his calf.

He breaks away with a gasp, lungs burning, and looks down at David as he settles back on his heels between Killian's legs.

They stare at each other for long moments. David seems entranced, undoubtedly fixated on Killian's flushed face and sweaty hair. Killian is equally enthralled with David's parted mouth. He's leaning in to kiss him again, feel the roughness of David's material-burned lips, when he's made aware of the promised mess in his trousers.

Killian winces, feeling the cooling fabric in a most unpleasant way. Any tender sentiment is lost as Killian looks down at himself in disgust.

"You are a fucking idiot, David."

And he means it. Even if he does smile fondly when David rests his head on Killian's knee and laughs, shoulders shaking with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com/) or [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

 

 

Killian should have known nothing good could come of ignoring instruction from the most reprehensible, but deviously minded wench he’d ever had the misfortune to meet.

The stunt he’d pulled by stealing Cora’s protection spell and escorting Emma up the beanstalk without consent would certainly not go unpunished. Cora was sure to exact some bitter revenge.

Killian winces at the thought, knowing it was stupid to think he could circumvent Cora’s assistance in his reunion with David. Foolishly, he’d hoped to win Emma over and be offered an invitation to join her party in their return to David’s new world.

Killian rubs his wrist as he walks briskly toward the blasted beanstalk he and Emma had spent the majority of the morning climbing. She had turned out to be even more like David than he thought, moral compass firmly pointed toward ‘decent’.

Unwillingly to slay the giant at the top of the beanstalk, not once but twice, Emma had convinced him to instead detain Killian while she took the enchanted (not moral) compass and rejoined her mother. Killian still hasn’t quite worked out how she managed to hoodwink him into allowing himself to be chained to the wall. All he knows is now Emma has an hours long head start towards returning to Storybrooke, and Killian has no idea how he’s going to explain all of this to Cora.

David, at least, had never been able to tie Killian up and simply leave. He’d tried, but couldn’t quite force himself to walk away. Killian grins to himself as he begins his descent. He should have mentioned that little fact to Emma. Might have stalled her headlong flight.

The giant, for his part, hadn’t been too unbearable. A bit chatty and virtuous for Killian’s taste, but he had at least released Killian without insisting on finding out whether Killian suited his own taste.

As expected, the descent is easier than the climb, and Killian finds himself back on solid ground in no time. He jumps the last couple feet from the stalk, landing lightly. His heart makes a similar leap when a voice sounds behind him.

Brilliant. Of course she’s here, not even having the decency to give Killian time to concoct a plausible excuse for his behavior.

“My dear Captain, it seems you've been on quite an adventure.” Cora’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and Killian nearly shivers at the iciness behind it. She extends a hand, palm up. “The compass, please.”

Killian pastes on a smile of his own, rubbing a hand across his chest absently. _Protecting his heart._ “Yes, that.. Well,” he begins apologetically, turning around to face Cora. “Matters grew complicated. It's eluded me for a moment.” He lowers his eyelids in faux contriteness, Cora’s impassive face telling him not to bother with chicanery. “The details of the affair are a bit of a bore.”

Judging by the way she continues to stare at him, Killian realizes he’s fighting a losing battle trying to garner sympathy. He straightens slightly, ready for the tirade.

Cora’s tone is surprisingly even when she next speaks, but Killian isn’t fooled. She’s notoriously refined.

“Really? Stealing my protection spell and climbing the beanstalk without me might seem like a bore to you. But to me, it's a betrayal.”

Killian’s breath catches at her words. He knows there’s nothing these villain types despise more than any perceived betrayal from their lackeys. He’s an idiot. He overestimated the effect he’d hoped to have on Emma, foolishly allowing himself to be lulled into believing her to be just like David. If she were David, Killian would already be halfway to this new world. As it is, he’s stood here, abandoned by Emma and, by the looks of it, about to be eviscerated by Cora.

Killian is struck by a sudden wave of longing for David. He’s so bloody tired of the fucking chess game his life has become. He misses more than anything the effortless moments spent in each other’s presence; arguing or laughing or making love. It had been so easy, had always been so easy, to lose himself in David’s company. He’d never met someone, before or since, that he connected with in such a natural manner. His time with David was never boring, never predictable. It simply was, and they simply were, and Killian wants more than anything to get back to a state of just being. No vengeful plots or murderous endeavors to worry about, no evil sorceresses or fiery daughters to placate. Just him and David, happy to exist in one another’s world.

He can sense Cora’s ire growing with every second that he remains silent, the air tense with her displeasure. Killian draws himself together, attempts the confident demeanor he wears like an armor, finding it harder to put on with each passing day. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up.

 _One more day_ , he tells himself, smiling at Cora shakily. _Always one more day_.

“I was going to bring it to you,” he assures Cora, ignoring the look of outraged skepticism on her face. “Our agreement remains. We are going to Storybrooke together. I'll get it back.”

And he would. If he had to pry if from Emma’s cold-

Killian cuts himself off with a grimace. No matter how desperate he is to return to David’s side, he’s fairly certain he won’t be welcomed with open arms if he murders his daughter. He can’t be sure of this, of course, but he has a hunch.

Cora’s tone is steely when she replies, still unconvinced. 

“I don't have time for your games. I've crossed through too many worlds to be brought short at the brink of success. Who was it who bested you?”

Killian offers her a wry smile, her phrasing somehow calling to mind David’s appalling fencing skills. Never once was he able to best Killian, much to his chagrin. The memories of his many (many) furious, red-faced attempts never fail to bolster Killian’s spirits.

He sobers quickly, not wanting to enrage Cora further by taking ages to answer such simple questions. He can’t afford to keep getting lost in his own head.

“The Swan girl. Emma. Be assured, it won't happen again.”

Killian may be offering his assurance, but he receives none of his own when Cora laughs, low and dark. Just like you’d expect from the villain of the story.

“No, it won't.” Cora eyes him speculatively, words spoken carefully. “You chose her, and the consequences of that decision.”

Killian’s heart sinks to his boots, but he clenches his jaw defiantly. He won’t allow her to be rid of him so easily. He’s spent far too many years on this quest to have it all come crashing down when he’s nearly reached the end.

“Oh, you gonna kill me now? Go ahead. Try.” His tremulous voice belies the cockiness of his words, but Killian focuses on tilting his chin boldly. The confident stance always worked for David, and so Killian is borrowing a leaf from his book.

But apparently he lacks David’s bluster. Cora smiles at him, the look no warmer than a winter sun. His heart is still residing somewhere near the ground.

“So brave,” Cora simpers, her voice making Killian want to curl his lip in disgust. “No, I'm not going to kill you. I have something far more satisfying in mind. I'm going to leave you here with your thirst for revenge unquenched. While I complete our journey without you.”

Killian’s breath catches in his chest as he sways on the spot. This can’t happen. He can’t lose both of his chances to travel to Storybrooke, to David, in one day. He curses himself every kind a fool for giving into the impulse to make his way without Cora. His self-servicing manner of living has never come back to bite him so swiftly.

Painting on a charming expression that he certainly isn’t feeling at the moment, Killian takes a step towards Cora. Years of practice in talking his way into and out of touchy situations is the only reason he’s able to keep his voice steady.

“There's no need to be rash. We can discuss this.” _We have to discuss this_.

Killian can count on one hand, thankfully, the number of times he’s wanted to cry when facing an adversary. His dominant characteristic is his ability to remain charming and aloof, even in the midst of strife. But not now. Now, as he watches Cora shake her head in disagreement, he feels like he may retch at her feet.

“Your pretty face buys you a lot, but not my time. It's too valuable.”

Killian shakes his head, extending a hand toward Cora imploringly. “I can do this,” he promises earnestly, desperation finally bleeding through into his voice. “I can get it back. You need me.” _I need this. I need David_.

Killian knows he’s reached the end of the line as far as a means to travel to David’s new world. He’s been witness to Cora’s struggle to procure a way to her daughter. If someone as powerful as she had faced such difficulty, what chance does the drunken captain of a worthless band of pirates stand? If the past thirty-odd years are anything to go by, not much. None of Killian’s plots or schemes had brought him near David, save for one.

_And we all know how well that worked out for you, eh?_

Cora chuckles, bringing him back to the present, and Killian’s earlier threat of nausea is rapidly becoming a very distinct possibility.

“No, I don't,” she answers coolly, stepping away from him even as he continues to reach for her. “You've had your chance. Now it's my turn to do this. The right way.”

She turns suddenly, disappearing in a swirl of dark smoke. Killian chokes on a protest, sinking to his knees in defeat. This can’t be happening.

He allows himself a few moments to wallow in the dust at the base of the beanstalk, trying vainly to contain the tears that always seem to lurk just below the surface, ready to spring up at a moment’s notice. Crying never solves anything, he knows, but damn him if it doesn’t feel like the only thing he’s capable of just now.

Finally, Killian shakes himself from his stupor. He rises slowly, but his mind is working furiously to make up for it. There’s a way to fix this. Killian has always been crafty, and he refuses to allow an evil hellcat of a witch to thwart him.

Resolved, he turns to face the path he knows leads to the camp Emma’s party had set up. There’s much to be done, and quickly, if he has any hope of weaseling his way back into Cora’s good graces.

If there’s anything he’s good at, it’s getting people to love him. Just ask David.

-x-

Killian isn’t sure how he got to this point. How he managed to become this person. And he isn’t sure he can ever go back to who he was before.

The past few weeks are a complete blur to him as he stands, strange weapon warm in his hands, watching the crocodile clutch his wounded love to his chest. He knows that he and Cora had arrived in Storybrooke on his ship, and that she had refused to simply let him go about his business in peace. Instead, he’d been pulled even further into her twisted little game, committing atrocities the likes of which he’d never thought himself capable.

Holding the cricket hostage had been the tip of the proverbial iceberg, leading him down a quickly spiraling path. Killian had thought his only goal in reaching Storybrooke had been a reunion with David, but as soon as he’d been offered the opportunity to exact any measure of revenge on Rumplestiltskin, Killian had found himself leaping at it. Cora had given him the chance to cause the crocodile even an ounce of the pain he’d treated Killian to over the years, and Killian hadn’t been able to turn it down.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Killian had felt something other than despondency. His plot to take down his long-time nemesis had filled him with exceptional purpose, driving all but the deepest rooted thoughts of David from his mind for a brief time. In retrospect, Cora may have had something to do with his sudden ambition, a spell of some sort, but Killian hadn’t questioned it in the moment. A world free of Rumplestiltskin was a blessing beyond anything he’d dared hoped.

He’d quickly learned that vengeance is an ugly emotion on anyone, and Killian is no exception. He hardly recognizes himself as he looks at the havoc he’s wreaked. Belle looks terrified, memory erased and blood leaking from the place he had shot her. Where _he_ had shot her. He’d terrorized this poor girl across two dimensions now, all in the name of justice for what the crocodile had done to first Milah, then David. Looking at her now, Killian can’t believe how far he’s allowed himself to take this.

Before the realization of what he’s done can fully sink in, Killian is suddenly blinded by twin points of light, unrelenting and drawing seemingly closer at a rapid clip. The sound behind them is unlike anything he knows, and he squints through the beams, trying to decipher their origin.

He isn’t given a chance to react, to move or yell or do anything at all before the source of the lights collides with him violently, sending him sprawling across the road. He lies there, feels the wetness of the ground seeping through to his skin, notes the taste of blood on his tongue, winces at the extreme pain in his side. And his head. And everywhere. He must look a sight.

Wouldn’t it be just his luck if David’s first glimpse of him in decades was at this, his most attractive moment? Not only has he turned into someone even he himself doesn’t recognize, he’s also managed to get himself completely banged up in the process. It’s all he deserves, after all.

Even as he thinks it, Killian hears a persistent pealing sound in the distance, growing ever closer. And louder. He reaches to clutch his aching head before dropping his arm at the even stronger ache in his ribs at the movement. He takes several steadying breaths as the area around him is illuminated by even more light, this time flashing red and forcing him to close his eyes against their brilliance.

Killian can hear commotion all around him, footsteps and shouts and the bloody wailing noise. He can’t begin to make sense of it all, so he simply continues to breathe until his solace is interrupted by the sudden appearance of one Emma Swan. Gods, she looks so like David.

“Hey beautiful,” he croaks on instinct, feeling delirious and halfway convinced that perhaps she is David.

She leans in, cementing the notion in Killian’s mind that she is David, reincarnated or in disguise or under the influence of some potion or another. He anticipates the kiss of greeting David always bestows on him, uncaring that it will hurt like hell against the undoubtedly bruised contours of his face. It’s a pain that’s well worth it.

When she presses a firm hand to his busted ribs instead, Killian quickly changes his mind. Bloody buggering fuck, nothing is worth that. He shouts in surprise, and she withdraws her hand.

The sound draws the attention of the rest of the group that’s assembled in the small clearing, and Killian can just make out Rumplestiltskin’s malevolent glare, but there’s a hint of despair behind his beady eyes. Inexplicably, Killian laughs, filled with a sense of triumph.

_Good. Let him feel it. Every measure of pain and despair he’s caused me. Let it fester beneath that scaly hide of his until he’s a mere shadow of the man he used to be._

Emma makes a small noise that draws his attention back to her, mouth still stretched in a spiteful grin.

“Your ribs are broken,” she says in a flat tone, giving the rest of him a quick once-over.

“Oh, that must be why it hurts when I laugh,” he replies distractedly, glancing back toward the crowd gathered around Belle and her unfortunate choice of lover. “Did you see his face? His one true love, gone in an instant!” Killian raises his voice, calling over to Rumplestiltskin, blaming the loss of blood on his almost giddy tone. “Just like Milah, crocodile! When you took her from me. And then, worse, when you took-“

Killian cuts himself off quickly, remembering Emma’s presence just in time. Somehow, his relationship with her father isn’t something Killian wants her privy to. Not yet, anyway.

All traces of his laughter are erased when the crocodile lunges at him suddenly, cane pressed to his windpipe. Killian sees stars as Emma screeches.

“Gold, are you insane?!” She reaches to pull him off Killian, but her effort is fruitless.

“Yes I am!” Rumplestiltskin replies, but Killian doesn’t catch what he says next. Or maybe he doesn’t say anything. Or maybe everything else has simply ceased to exist. Because at that second, a second person joins Emma in her attempt to free Killian.

Killian has imagined this moment a thousand times, easily, imagined where he’d be and what he’d say. Played out so many scenarios in his mind that he’d nearly convinced himself that the occasion would be effortless. Because with David, everything is effortless.

Except this. This isn’t. Killian is flat on his back on a wet road, a murderous dark one at his throat, and even if he were capable of speech, Killian isn’t sure he could manage it at this point.

Because he’s here. David is here. He’s near enough to touch, near enough that Killian can make out the blue of his eyes against the lights all around. He’s here, and he’s pulling desperately at the crocodile, expression wild.

“You can’t do that!” David yells sharply, rough voice penetrating that fog that’s begun filling Killian’s head. He’s vaguely aware that an argument ensues between the three of them struggling above him, but he can’t focus on anything beyond the fact that David is here. David is here, and fighting for Killian’s life.

Finally, more lights and sound arrives, distracting Rumplestiltskin long enough for David to force him away, and Killian draws a frantic breath. David shouts again, this time at who or whatever has just arrived, and Killian lies back to stare up at him, panting harshly.

It’s all at once everything and nothing like he thought it would be. Killian is loathe to wax poetic, but can't help himself now that he sees David. Because he is seeing him. David is stood not two feet from him. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, glorious David. Killian thinks that if he were granted two more lifetimes to drink him in, it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the bone deep need within him.

In the days and months and years that passed after David was gone, Killian would lie in the dark silence of his cabin, eyes trained unseeingly on the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep, could never sleep unless he was blackout drunk, so he used the time to picture David. Every inch of his face, every freckle on his back, every crease in his palms and the scar on his knee, the mole at the base of his throat and the slenderness of his ankles. Killian had been determined never to forget a single detail, knowing how easy it was for memories to slip away. He’d lost nearly every recollection of Milah over time, save the most poignant ones, and he refused to allow it to happen with David.

Still, as Killian looks at him now, heart threatening to burst from his chest, he realizes that memories could never compare to the real thing. He looks at him, clad in the strange garb apparently customary to this world, but on David it just looks perfect. Everything about David’s posture screams tension, but it’s a sight to which Killian is accustomed. David has always been too uptight for his own good. Well that, and he’d just witnessed the crocodile attempt to murder Killian. Killian thinks he can be forgiven a little unease.

David is as fucking fit as ever, with broad shoulders that still make Killian salivate, long legs that he can clearly picture intertwined with his own in the early light of day, and everything in between that always causes Killian's breath to catch. He knows that he would feel winded just looking at him even if he hadn’t recently had a cane pressed to his throat. David still radiates the capability that Killian was struck by the moment he met him, bossing people around in the authoritative tone that never failed to make Killian’s knees weak.

David looks older than he remembers, though logically Killian recognizes that he hasn't aged much since they last saw each other. Killian imagines David’s myriad experiences have been etched into his countenance now, and only serve to make him more attractive. The desire to touch him is almost overpowering. Almost enough to make him say fuck the pain and jump to his feet, if only to smooth the lines on David’s brow with gentle fingertips, like he’s done a thousand times before.

Killian lingers on David’s handsome face, taking in the perpetual thundercloud expression he knows so well. He isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh or cry at the sight, so thankful that times and dimensions and marital statuses may have changed, but his beautiful, taciturn David remains.

And David is his, Killian thinks fiercely, eyes still drinking in the sight of his boy. Ring, he absently notes, on his finger, wife undoubtedly nearby, daughter hovering at his shoulder be damned. David has belonged to Killian from the moment he set foot on his ship, and Killian refuses to let him go. Not now, that he’s finally, _finally_ found him. Not ever, if he’s honest. No matter how selfish that makes him.

Killian shifts impatiently at the thought, wondering why David has yet to acknowledge him. Well, you know, beyond rescuing him. He continues to talk to Emma, gesturing towards the large…thing that had smashed into Killian what feels like a lifetime ago. He wonders if David is trying to avoid arousing his family’s suspicion. A niggling thought whispers that maybe it’s because of that _other reason_ , but Killian shakes his head. That’s preposterous. It’s been years. And David had regained the memories stolen by the curse. There’s no reason to think he hadn’t gotten the memories of Killian back as well.

Except then he drops his gaze to look at Killian. His eyes burn into Killian’s own, and Killian wants to weep for joy at the flicker he sees in their depths. Until David speaks. Until that beautiful mouth opens, and instead of the declaration of undying love he’d been expecting, David asks the question that brings Killian's existence to a crashing halt.

“Who’s this, then? And why was Gold hellbent on killing him?”

Killian's world, his entire being, narrows to a pinprick of blackness. It's been years. Years and years and miles and heartache and agony and soul wrenching loneliness and countless bottles of rum and...

And David doesn't know him.

It's been years, and yet it feels like scarcely a moment has passed since Killian lay in a dingy alley down from an even dingier bar, blood dripping from his busted lip. He'd lain there and watched David walk away. David, his knuckles bruised from their violent contact with Killian's jaw. David, who didn't know him. David, who hadn't returned his desperate, pleading kiss.

It's been years. And David doesn't know him. And Killian is suddenly so, so tired.

He lies back on the pavement once more, blinking against the rain that’s begun to fall. He wonders, if he stays here long enough, whether or not the rain will be able to drown him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com/) or [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com/)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

The worst day of Killian's life begins with disappointment. He wakes early, earlier than he'd like, and groans at the weak light filtering through the cabin. The way he sees it, he has a crew for a reason. It's their responsibility to see that the ship is up and running by the time he sees fit to roll out of bed and join them above deck. If this were a typical day, Killian would have no problem turning his face back into the pillow and grabbing a couple hours more sleep.

As he'll soon learn, today is anything but typical.

Killian raises his head, blinking against the intrusion of light and trying to get his bearings. If he's awake this early, there must have been something to prompt it. He stretches out an arm to hit David, intent on disrupting his slumber as well. If Killian is doomed to wakefulness at this ungodly hour, then he's going to make sure everyone aboard shares in his misery.

When his hand encounters nothing but rumpled sheets, Killian frowns, flipping over to face David's empty side of the bed. While he knows that David's damnably accurate internal clock is set to wake him at dawn with the other farmers and assorted members of the agricultural community, Killian had thought he'd beaten the need to rise with the sun out of him after he'd woken Killian on three consecutive mornings when they'd first begun sharing a bed. While Killian could appreciate David's sleepy smiles and lazy kisses, he reasoned that those things could be enjoyed just as well several hours in the future. He'd communicated this view with David calmly and rationally, before dumping him to the floor, quite unceremoniously.

That had been years ago, and while Killian had certainly found other reasons to knock David to the floor since then, he'd thought they were past the issue of David's need to greet the brand new day. In fact, Killian had made it his life's mission to turn strict, responsible David to the grandest layabout he could be. He had been largely unsuccessful, given David's inherently hardworking nature, but he'd at least managed to convince him of the merits of a good lie-in.

Except for today, apparently. Killian pulls David's pillow to his chest, burying his face in the fabric and inhaling slowly. He'll never admit this to anyone, but Killian finds it highly discomfiting when he wakes without David beside him. David burns as bright as a thousand suns, warming Killian to the point of blazing, but it is a heat he is unwilling to sacrifice. He hates missing out on David's rough voice wishing him a good morning (" _Or afternoon by now."_ ) He wants clumsy touches and sleep sour breath in his face. He wants lie back and watch appreciatively when David finally stumbles out of bed to get dressed, eyes tracing every inch of skin before it's hidden from him.

Before he can delve too far into self pity, the door to the cabin opens slowly, revealing David's broad shoulders as he backs through carefully. Killian sits up, abandoning the pillow in favor of scrubbing a hand through his undoubtedly atrocious bedhead. He gives up when he remembers how much David likes smoothing his fingers through the mess. Although such ministrations usually accompany David's gentle attempts to rouse him, not after Killian's been heartlessly abandoned in his bed. His grumpy thoughts must be reflected on his face, as David's bright smile when he turns around quickly drops into an apologetic grimace.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," he says, approaching the side of the bed cautiously. Killian can't be sure if his careful nature is due to the tray in his hands or fear of Killian's response. Hopefully both. David continues to babble as Killian cranes his neck, trying to get a look at whatever it is David's brought with him.

"I couldn't sleep anymore, I dunno, and I was just lying there thinking about how much I like to watch the sunrise on the water, and I figured if I was awake anyway I might as well go up. And then I figured I'd owe you some sort of peace offering for leaving, so I went to the kitchen and had them make tea. I asked for some kind of meat to go with the biscuits but they said we're-" David's ramblings cease abruptly when Killian raises an imploring hand. 

"So many words," Killian grunts tiredly, and has to bite his lip against the smile that threatens to take over his face when David looks outraged.

David opens his mouth to reply several times before finally glancing down at the tray still clutched in his hands. When he looks back to Killian, his eyebrows are raised haughtily, a trait Killian knows David had picked up from him. He feels strangely proud, but stares back impassively all the same.

"For as much as you're interested in what's on it, you're working hard to ensure you won't get anything off this tray," David informs him lightly, making as if to leave. Killian snags his elbow at the last second, careful not to upset his breakfast. He offers up his most winning smile, but David seems unimpressed. Which is annoying. David is annoying. But, as Killian can now see, David is also carrying two cups of steaming hot liquid. Killian imagines it might behoove him to stay on David's good side. For the time being.

"My apologies darling," Killian soothes, circling his fingers into David's elbow until his eyes droop slightly. "You know how I am this early. And mornings are made infinitely more unbearable when I wake up without you." Killian bats his lashes at David coquettishly, causing him to snort a laugh. Attractive.

Killian always thinks David is attractive, truth told. Even things he'd typically find off putting in others, he finds hopelessly endearing in David. It's either a sign of love or madness, and Killian doesn't care to learn which. He simply chalks it up to devotion. 

"I guess you can keep the tray, then," David concedes magnanimously, leaning over Killian to balance it carefully among the tangle of blankets and sheets. Killian waits until he's sure any movement won't leave him with a bed full of scalding tea before snaking his arms around David's waist and hauling him into his lap. David gives a startled laugh, relaxing in Killian's grip and wrapping his own arms around his neck. 

"Hi," he says softly, pale blue eyes meeting Killian's unflinchingly. "Hi," Killian murmurs back, ducking his head to rub his stubbled cheek into David's neck. David's penetrating stare has always unnerved him. Killian worries if he looks too hard, he'll be able to see all the things Killian doesn't want him to know. He steadfastly ignores the part of him that insists David will love him no matter which truths he discovers. 

David seems thankfully oblivious to Killian's inner diatribe, running his fingers through Killian's hair and humming absently. "You better drink that before it gets cold," he advises, tugging the strands near Killian's nape gently, causing goose flesh to rise on his arms. 

"You taste better," Killian replies, biting David's collarbone lightly. 

"I'm telling the kitchen crew you said that. See if they make you anything again." 

Killian laughs, lifting his head to meet David's amused expression. "You wouldn't dare." 

David does the eyebrow thing again, protesting loudly when Killian pinches him. He struggles off the bed, snagging his own teacup on the way. Killian watches through narrowed eyes as he takes a deep swig before pulling a face.

"Ugh, I hope I taste better than this," David complains, leaning back across Killian to replace the cup on the tray. He lingers, a hand on either side of Killian's waist, thumbs pressed into his hips. "You planning on getting up anytime soon?" he asks, mouth tantalizingly close to Killian's own. The puff of breath against his lips is enough to have Killian licking them in anticipation, keenly aware of David's eyes as they track the movement. 

His voice is barely a whisper when he replies. "Depends on the definition of up."

David's laugh is cut short by Killian's mouth, pressing against his insistently for a brief moment before David pulls away again. Killian grunts indignantly, hands sliding along David's arms until he steps out of reach. The look on his face is a mixture of charmed and determined, and Killian knows the chances of spending the rest of the day lounging are slim. He slides further down the bed with a whine, grasping the covers even as David attempts to pull them off. 

"Killian," David mock scolds, dropping the blankets to plant his hands on his hips, "it's a gorgeous day, and you've already spent far too much if it indoors." 

"You're gorgeous," Killian mutters petulantly, still endeavoring to burrow out of sight. David smacks a hand down on Killian's lower stomach, causing him to lose his grip on the blankets. David yanks them away with a victorious cry, and Killian knows his that no matter how miffed an expression he tries, it's going to come off as more fond than anything else. 

He swings his feet to the floor without preamble, relishing the way David's eyes trace the line of his bare legs as they come to rest on either side of David's own. 

David bends to kiss him with a pleased sound, and Killian figures it's a fair trade for the loss of warmth. He stretches into the kiss, delighting in the way he has to tip his face up to maintain contact when David straightens slightly. David's hands have come up to cup his jaw, encouraging the tilt of his head. Killian brushes his tongue past the seam of David's lips, tasting the truly sub par tea he'd been drinking, tongue pressing against his until all that remains is the sweet undertone of his usual flavor. 

Killian thinks he could go on kissing David endlessly, has tried on several occasions, but such encounters inevitably lead to much more. David's touch is addictive, has Killian shivering when David's hands ghost down his back. He wants David as close as he can get, is already on that track, arms winding around David's neck to pull him down on top of him, left leg slotting up to press insistently between David's own, when David gently pries himself away. 

Killian groans exaggeratedly, hands dropping to his sides in defeat. David laughs at the look on his face, leaning in to peck him lightly, just once, before stepping away entirely. 

"Get dressed," he says, voice low enough that Killian knows he isn't unaffected by their kiss, even if he's trying to act like it. It has Killian reaching out for him unconsciously, an instinctive reaction. He sees the indecision in David's eyes at the movement, but has barely gotten his hopes up when when David speaks again. "I'll meet you above." 

Killian flops on his back as David leaves the cabin, glaring up at the ceiling. He already knows it's going to be a bad day, has known it since he woke up alone. He just isn't prepared for exactly how bad.

 

-x-

 

Killian had taken his sweet time following David's order to get dressed, and thinks that he may be closing in on an hour since he was left to his own devices. But it serves David right, he reasons as he slowly climbs the stairs to the deck. If he'd been up for a quick one rather than leaving Killian disgruntled and turned on, Killian would have been much more willing to accommodate his wish to spend the day outdoors. 

As it is, he's determined to spend the remainder of the afternoon as surly as possible. Which, turns out, is never very surly when he's with David. But he'll make an effort. His pride insists on it.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he pauses with his hand to the door. Some kind of commotion is taking place on the other side. Killian can hear harsh voices over the sound of the sea, raised in what sounds like an argument. He furrows his brow, concerned. While his men are prone to the occasional drunken tiff, they never fight among themselves during every day activities. For a bunch of good for nothing pirates, Killian actually has managed to wrangle a pretty remarkable crew. Curiosity piqued, Killian pushes his way out into the sunlight. 

He nearly falls back through the doorway at the sight that greets him. 

The first presence he registers is David, eyes naturally drawn to him. He's stood against the railing on the port side, arms crossed over his chest and jaw a ridged line. Killian stupidly wonders if he's the source of contention on deck, until he sees who's standing beside him.

"Oh Captain, there you are! I was wondering when you would deign to join us. I almost had to send someone along to fetch you."

Killian is frozen for long moments, so long that he begins to see spots in his vision, head swimming, and realizes he hasn't taken a breath since he stepped on to the deck. He forces air into his lungs, an automatic action made difficult by the fear seizing up in his chest. Even as the fog clears from his head, Killian's mind can't process the sight before him. He tears his gaze away from the one face, among his many abhorrent acquaintances, that he'd hoped to never see again. His eyes seek David's desperately, needing their grounding influence. David's brows are drawn in concern at Killian's stricken face, and he moves like he's going to cross the deck to Killian's side. He's stopped by an arm across his chest,and Killian's stasis is broken. 

"Don't fucking touch him."  

Killian's voice is nothing but a growl, venom dripping from every syllable. The tone surprises even himself, and he catches David's startled look before focusing all of his attention on the man beside him. 

Rumplestiltskin's face splits into a delighted smile at Killian's reaction, hand sliding up to grasp David's shoulder in mock companionship. David shrugs him off easily, but not before the action sets Killian's blood to boiling. He's overcome with the desire to cleave the offending appendage from his arm in a gruesome imitation of their last encounter. Killian takes a single step in David's direction before the crocodile raises that same hand in supplication. 

"Ah, I wouldn't come any closer, dearie. Not with such murderous intent, anyway. Wouldn't want me to get...defensive." The Dark One laughs, amused as ever by his own wit, and Killian takes the moment to glance around at his crew, all of whom seem frozen in place. Unlikely to assist him in any form of charge. Bloody useless, the lot. Tamping down his rising panic, Killian refocuses on David. His beautiful eyes are almost comically wide, and under different circumstances Killian might have to tease him about such a clueless expression. As it is, he tries to reassure him with a quirk of his mouth, but knows the motion comes off as more of a grimace than anything. It's all he can manage at the moment. 

Because here he is again. Stood on the deck of his ship, surrounded by his stricken crew, with Rumplestiltskin standing between him and the love of his life. Killian tries to tell himself that this isn't the same, that he owes Rumple nothing, has taken nothing from him, and thereby has given him no reason to harm David, but his rabbiting heart is much too loud for him to listen. At their last meeting, the crocodile had effectively destroyed his life in one fell swoop, leaving him with quite the souvenir to ensure he'd never forget the experience. Killian reaches for his left arm reflexively, cradling his hook close to his body. The rush of memories assault his senses, the possibility of emptying his meager breakfast on the deck at his feet becoming more likely by the moment. The breakfast David brought him. Less than an hour ago, when he had his beautiful boy in his arms, rather than a hairsbreadth away from his greatest adversary. 

He's been quiet for far too long, Killian realizes with a start. Rumplestiltskin is watching him with an evilly delighted little smile, undoubtedly able to read his every thought. David's eyes are flicking between the two of them, distress evident in the tremble of the hands at his sides. Killian knows that David has no way of knowing the significance of this particular visit, but he's intuned enough to Killian's emotions to understand that this creature means them no good. Killian watches as he opens his mouth, unable to stop him before he speaks.

"Killian, what the hell is going on? Who...," David trails off at the frantic shake of Killian's head, biting down on his lip viciously. Not soon enough, though. Rumplestiltskin rubs his hands together briskly, fixing Killian with a mock disappointed stare. 

"Do I mean so little to you, Captain, that you've not once mentioned me to precious David here? Despite the  _countless_  hours you've spent alone at sea together? I am hurt." A frown twists Rumplestiltskin's already hideous face, causing it to appear more mottled than ever. Killian isn't given a chance to reply before he's turning to David, who faces him boldly, shoulders squared. Killian's heart aches with affection for his beautiful, stupid, fearless David. 

"Has the captain never told you the story of his first love, dearie? It's ever so charming. And I have a leading role in the tale." The Dark One shoots Killian a sly smile as he speaks, positioning himself with his back to Killian, standing directly in front of David to guarantee his full attention. David glances over his shoulder at Killian before replying. 

"I know about Milah. I don't know what she has to do with you but-" 

"Oh she has everything to do with me!" Rumplestiltskin interrupts, voice going high and rushed as it does when he's particularly excited. "You see, your captain, pirate as he is, has a certain...propensity for taking things that don't belong to him. Including other people's wives," he finishes with a laugh.  

David's eyes snap back to Killian, startled, and Killian meets the look with a sinking feeling in his gut. David knew about Milah, yes, but precious little more than Killian had loved and lost her. He hadn't pushed for details when Killian had said she'd been taken from him in the same skirmish that cost Killian his hand. He'd simply wrapped Killian in his arms, murmuring nonsense into his hair. They'd fallen asleep in a tight embrace, and the subject had never been broached again. Seeing David's betrayed expression, Killian wishes he'd expounded a little. His excuse at the time had been he didn't want his past demons creeping into his relationship with David, but he knows that was a foolish notion. He knew better than to think he'd ever truly be free from the crocodile. 

"Judging by your terse silence, I take it you weren't aware of that little tidbit." Rumplestiltskin's loud voice disrupts the tension holding David and Killian still. They both jump, attention returning to the man stood between them. "Not to worry. Pirates aren't known for their honesty." 

The crocodile steps away from David then, turning back to face Killian."I am surprised at you though, Captain. I thought surely you'd have learned your lesson about appropriating lovers." Killian's eyes flutter shut when he presses close, dread for whatever's coming next rendering him immobile. He can feel David's tension from across the deck, pulsing off him in waves, and wants nothing more than to haul him into his arms. Sequester him away from the world. They should never have gotten out of bed.  

He answers Rumplestiltskin, forcing the words past his tight throat. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about. David remains here of his own volition. And he's certainly no one's wife." 

The Dark One laughs again, the sinister tone of it raising the hair on the back of Killian's neck. "That he's not. But he does belong to someone else, dearie. And I'm here to see that they get him." 

David makes a protesting noise just as Killian's eyes fly open, but he doesn't look his way. Killian focuses solely on Rumplestiltskin, panic warring with fury, causing his vision to bleed red. "He doesn't belong to anyone," Killian grits out, jaw so tight his teeth feel as though they might crack.  _Except me. He is mine and mine alone._  

"On the contrary, David is an invaluable asset to many people. Least of all myself. And I must say, I was extremely displeased when I learned you had taken yet another thing of great import to me." Rumplestiltskin's voice has gone deadly serious, usual light-hearted tone missing. The air suddenly seems cooler, and Killian doesn't miss the collective shudder from his crew, whom he'd almost forgotten were on deck. 

David, for one, seems oblivious to the torpor that's gripped everyone else on board. He walks forward to plant himself at Killian's side, hand slipping down into his. Killian wants to hiss at him not to make matters worse, but clutches the fingers twined his tightly enough to cut off blood supply. 

"I don't know what you're on about, but I can assure you that I am no one's property. Or pawn," David says, voice steady as a ship on calm seas. Killian's heard that steely tone at least five times a day for the past two years, but it never fails to send a chill down his spine. Rumplestiltskin, it seems, is unaffected.

"And I'm here to tell you that you most assuredly are." He offers David a smile before producing a piece of paper, seemingly out of thin air. Killian catches a glimpse of it when he brandishes it with a flourish, and is startled to note that it's the same wanted poster that had led him to David, what feels like a lifetime ago. David frowns down at it, pressing himself more firmly into Killian's side.

"So what?" David asks, refusing to take the proffered parchment. "I don't see what that has to do with you being here. That's from ages ago." 

"You were never curious as to why there were posters christened with your lovely face suddenly popping up all across the countryside? You never questioned what the king could possibly want with you, to offer such a generous reward for your apprehension?" 

Even if David had never wondered such things, Killian certainly had. Late at night, lying in the dark with his head propped on David's chest, counting his heartbeats, Killian had made himself sick with worry over it on several occasions. No matter how many times he had pressed him, despite his increasingly tantalizing means of coaxing information from him, David had never told Killian what, if anything, he knew about the price on his head. Killian was never sure if he truly wasn't aware of the reason, or if he merely didn't want to tell Killian what he knew. Eventually, Killian had stopped asking. David was entitled to a couple of secrets. Lord knows Killian has a multitude of his own. Standing here now, on the precipice of discovering just what the crown wants with David, Killian wishes he had pushed a little harder for answers. 

David has given some response in the affirmative, but Killian only has ears for Rumplestiltskin's next revelation. He isn't disappointed. 

"You see, dearie, you have an integral role to play in a rather devious plot of mine. A plot which I set in motion some years ago, on the day of your birth, in fact." Rumplestiltskin is pacing the deck as he talks, twirling David's rolled up ransom poster between his slim fingers. "Imagine my surprise, then, when the time came for you to fulfill your duties, you had disappeared to parts unknown. I suppose I could have tracked you down myself, but I was quite tasked with other elements of my plans, and therefore turned the job of your acquisition over to King George. He too has a vested interest in your location. But that's unimportant," he says distractedly. "I'd like for you to further imagine my consternation when, by the time I realized that the king was taking far too long to achieve something as simple as the capture of a peasant, I discovered that my usual methods of locating my belongings were thwarted by you occupying a vessel enchanted not to reveal the whereabouts of its passengers." 

David shoots Killian an impressed look, to which he responds with a humble shrug. It had seemed like a prudent measure to take, given what seems to happen every time the Jolly Roger is invaded. Fat lot of good it's doing him now, though. 

"Fortunately, the Dark One has eyes everywhere. It may have taken longer than I had originally planned, but I made the necessary adjustments to the timeline, and now that I've found you, we're back on track." 

David's fingers are cold beneath Killian's own, and Killian hears the catch of his breath. He can sympathize, his own chest like ice, unable to pass air. 

"Back on track for what?" David asks, and Killian envies him his ability to keep his voice steady, no matter the circumstances. He knows that any attempt to speak on his part would likely end in tears. 

"For your new life, of course!" the Dark One replies enthusiastically. "You've much to do, and little time to do it." 

Killian feels David's ire growing while his own sense of unease triples. He feels panicky, the same desperation he'd felt the last time the crocodile was aboard his ship. Killian attempts to speak, but his voice refuses to cooperate. David spares him a look before continuing the devastating conversation. 

"I'm not interested in a new life," he says firmly, and Killian wants so badly to tell him that it doesn't matter. What he wants is irrelevant next to what the Dark One wills. He wants to laugh at David's naivete, wants to go back in time and fill David in on the horrors that creature is capable of, wants to better prepare him for this moment. Mostly, Killian wants to turn David into his arms and hold him there, preserve that innocence for just a moment more. But he doesn't do any of those things. He stands next to David, drinks in the sight of his profile, and trembles. Rumplestiltskin fills the silence when Killian can't. 

"Once I'm finished with you, it will be all you want." The threat is so blatant, so reminiscent of every interaction that they've had in the past, that Killian can't draw breath for a moment. He knows, has known from the moment he discovered the crocodile on his ship, that he's about the lose the one thing he can't bear to. 

Killian moves then, finally unable to stand by any longer. He tucks David neatly behind him with a hand at his waist, reaching for his sword and feeling a rush of pride when every man in his crew does the same. They may not be worth shit in a crisis, but they're loyal to a fault. 

"I don't know where you got the impression that you can waltz aboard my ship and threaten my crew, but I can assure you that you were mistaken," Killian spits, voice firm in a way he thought himself incapable at the moment. David's tension is a welcome presence at his back, his inherent capability bleeding into Killian's own actions. He doesn't falter as the crocodile laughs, holding himself as tall as he can, towering over the deceptively small creature before him. Killian knows his show of bravado is unlikely to frighten Rumplestiltskin, but he'll be damned if he just stands aside and allows him to destroy the happiness he'd thought he'd never have again. 

Killian's crew has pressed in closer, picking up on Killian's commanding air. It isn't often he asserts his authority as captain, so perhaps that's why they react instantly when he does. The Dark One doesn't spare them so much as a glance, his mirth-filled eyes never leaving Killian. His smile widens when David rests a reassuring hand on Killian's hip. 

"Well now, don't you two look cozy? Such a pity it can't last," he replies, tone not remorseful in the slightest. Before Killian can even open his mouth to answer, he's gone. Cursing, Killian spins around to scan the deck, not unused to this disappearing act. When he turns, Killian's heart settles in his boots. David is no longer behind him, vibrating with tightly leased anger. Instead, he's perched precariously on the ship's railing, clutched close to the Dark One's chest, hands scrabbling with the arm wrapped around his throat. He's putting up a valiant fight, his eyes showing no fear until they meet Killian's. Whatever he reads in their briny depths brings him up short. The outrage drains from his face to be replaced with a trepidation the likes of which Killian has never known him to feel. He knows he should school his own features, attempt to reassure David with a look, but the abject terror he feels at seeing David at the mercy of the crocodile refuses to be suppressed. He stares back at David helplessly until Rumplestiltskin's voice calls out to him. 

"I'd love to continue our chat, or perhaps be given another display of your prowess with a sword, but I'm afraid we haven't the time. David is far too late for far too many things as it is, so we'll have to take our leave." His arm tightens around David's neck as David resumes his struggle to escape the hold. Killian feels wild; panic making him desperate, fight or flight instinct sending him across the ship in three massive strides. He stops at David's feet, head tipped back despite the glaring sun. He doesn't reach out, knowing that Rumplestiltskin will flee, given the slightest provocation. Killian knew from the moment he claimed to need David to achieve some end that he wouldn't be leaving without him, but Killian refuses to lie down and accept it. He takes a shaky breath before speaking, voice deadly low to ensure the Dark One will be hanging on his every word. 

"David belongs with me, and it is with me he will remain. You won't succeed in taking him from me like you did Milah. I don't care what I have to do, how many oceans I have to cross, I won't rest until he is back at my side. Where he will always belong." 

David's eyes have gone wide during his speech, and Killian fights not to reach up and pull him into an embrace. It hits him that this may be the last time in awhile that he sees those gorgeous pale blues, and he wants to be sick. Instead, he forces himself to return his attention to the Dark One. Nausea returns at the smug look on his face. 

"And what if, when you fulfill your promise of finding him, your precious David doesn't want to be found?" the crocodile inquires innocently. "Won't that just crush you, Captain?" 

Killian seeks David's eyes again, and David offers him a tremulous smile even as he answers Rumplestiltskin. "I'll always want to be found." 

Killian wraps a hand around his ankle, refusing to acknowledge the Dark One's scathing laugh. 

"I'm afraid that's just not true, dearie. Because you see, by the time your brave captain manages to track you down, you won't even remember who he is." 

Before either of them can react to that statement, Rumplestiltskin produces a vial of some swirly blue liquid. Quick as anything, he forces David's head back and holds it there as he drains the contents of the vial down his throat. Killian's desperate lunge for the bottle is fruitless, and he barely manages to recover his footing in time to catch David as the Dark One allows him to fall from his grasp. 

Killian gathers David to him, cupping his face frantically, eyes searching David's own. He watches in despair as the recognition drains from David's gaze to be replaced by the sort of haze only seen under the effects of a powerful memory potion. Killian holds David for the span of one agonizing heartbeat before David's freeing himself from the embrace, stumbling back against the railing and casting a panic-stricken look around the ship. 

"Where the fuck am I?" 

Fighting tears once again, Killian attempts to calm him. Murmuring nonsense, he walks to David's side as the crocodile watches on, his glee palpable even from a distance. A sob catches in Killian's throat when he holds out an imploring hand, only to have David draw away like he's afraid it will burn him. He pins himself to the railing like a caged animal, and Killian's heart shatters. In all that they've been to each other, from captor and captive to captain and reluctant crew member to lovers, David has never been  _afraid_ of him. But every line of his body now screams fear, and Rumplestiltskin chuckles once, pleasure so evident that Killian has him by the throat before he's even realized that he moved. He puts them nose to nose, speaking his threat directly into those malevolent eyes. 

"You will pay for this. With everything that is in me, I will make you suffer until you beg for release from your torturous existence, but you will never know a moment's peace. Your gift of eternity will turn to damnation the likes of which has never been experienced. And such a fate will still be too generous a reward for you." 

Killian can feel David watching him, undoubtedly alarmed by the scene before him, but he can't bring himself to offer him comfort only to be rejected by the man he loves. Because he no longer knows him. 

Rumplestiltskin frees himself from Killian's clutches delicately, straightening his collar as he steps away. Clearing his throat loftily, he turns back to Killian. "Yes well, I look forward to your attempts to effectuate those claims, but in the meantime, we really must be going. Come, David." 

Killian's last view of David aboard the Jolly Roger is one he'll struggle for decades to forget. David brings his arms up defensively as Rumplestiltskin catches his elbow in his scaly fingers. Killian watches powerlessly as David is magiced away from the ship, face pale and terrified eyes locked with Killian's own. 

Not two seconds after he's gone, Killian steps to the railing and retches David's horrible tea over the side.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com/) or [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com/)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](https://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

Killian stares up at the blank white ceiling, the buzz of activity outside his door falling on deaf ears. He’s been taken to somewhere the staff keeps assuring him is a recovery facility; a “hospital”, it’s called. It feels more like a prison. He tugs feebly at the manacle shackling him to the railing of his uncomfortable bed. Definitely more like a prison.

Not that he cares. Without crossing the line into overdramatic which, let’s face it, Killian knows he too often is, he doesn’t much care for anything anymore. It’s a curious sensation, fulfilling your purpose and yet being so thoroughly unfulfilled. David hasn’t been to see him. Killian hasn’t been expecting him.

He snorts at himself, dismissing the lie immediately. Yes he has. He’s been waiting for David for thirty-odd years. He’ll be waiting for him on his dying day.

_Wish I’d died on the road the other night. Or at any junction of this miserable journey._

The only thing keeping his life marginally bearable are the brief visits from David’s daughter. Killian admits that he finds her endlessly fascinating, her father’s fire burning in her eyes, critical demands on her tongue. In another life, nay another world, he knows he might even be attracted to her. Possibly is now, but only because he sees David when he looks at her. Because everything comes back to that son of a bitch.

Killian’s distressed sigh calls the attention of a passing attendant. _Nurse_ , he reminds himself firmly. He should know this. He was a part of this world at one time.

“Are you feeling poorly?” the nurse asks, polite yet distrusting. Killian receives the same treatment from everyone on staff and wonders what the Swan girl has told them about him. He manages a weak smile, cheek muscles stiff with the foreign expression. Perhaps one day he’ll forget how to do it at all. The thought isn’t entirely without appeal.

“Fine,” he answers, as he always does. Poorly doesn’t begin to describe how he feels, and he hasn’t the patience to search for the words. Is there even a brief way to say “the man I love, who was stolen from my pirate ship by a loathsome crocodile and for whom I’ve been scouring the realms in search of, looked at me like nothing more than a two-bit criminal and left me to drown in the rain?” He doubts it. So he sticks with fine, and it is. Everything is just fine.

He lets his head thump back on the ridiculously thin pillow as the nurse scurries away without another word, undoubtedly off to tend to a more desirable patient than himself.

It seems his presence is sought by some, however, as Emma Swan steps into his room minutes later. Killian recognizes the set of her jaw instantly. He’s seen it on David dozens of times and knows it means she won’t be leaving without answers to the numerous questions she’s thrown at him for days. He might be feeling inclined to indulge her. After all, what does he have to lose?

He starts to greet her, but is cut off instantly.

“Enough with the games, Hook. Where’s Cora?”

Killian grins, stretching the scab on his split lip nearly to the point of reopening. “You look good, I must say. All ‘where’s Cora?’ in a commanding voice. Chills.” It’s the type of teasing that would have caused David’s blood pressure to skyrocket, and Killian is pleased to note that Emma’s ears flush the same indignant red when agitated.  Emma steps to his bedside, looming over him in what he’s clearly meant to view as menacing. He’s terrified. Honest.

“You have all sorts of sore places. I can make you hurt.” Emma stretches an arm out, fingers pressing sharply to Killian’s battered ribs. She must get her sadistic streak from her mother. David would never.

Killian flinches away instinctively, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of getting to him but unable to brave the pain. “Look,” he says, somewhat pleadingly, “I have no idea where Cora is. She has her own agenda.” Emma crosses her arms over her chest and Killian breathes a relieved sigh. He smiles back up at her, going for charming. “Let’s talk about something I am interested in. My hook. May I have it back?” He feels woefully defenseless without it, handless wrist secured to the bed by some strange sticking cloth. It’s all very undignified.

Emma has yet to respond. Killian’s smile turns wicked, and her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Or,” he stretches the word out, “is there another attachment you’d prefer?”

Emma remains stoic, Killian’s quip receiving no more than a raised eyebrow. “You’re awfully chipper for a guy who just failed to kill his enemy, then got hit by a car.”

Killian shrugs carefully, unwilling to reveal how forced his cheer actually is. “Well, my ribs may be broken, but…everything else is still intact. Which is more than can be said for other bad days I’ve had.” He tips his head toward his left arm and notes with some amusement that Emma avoids looking directly at it. He doesn’t mention it. “Plus,” he continues, not really believing his next words, but determined to maintain the ruse that his only objective remains the crocodile, “I did some quality damage to my foe.”

Emma’s gaze turns sharp at the off-hand comment. “You hurt Belle,” she says flatly, nostrils flared slightly.

Ah, there it is. Fiercely protective of those she loves. A David trait, beyond doubt. Killian wonders if she’d be inclined to protect him, if she knew her father once loved him with an overwhelming intensity. Killian’s throat feels tight when he realizes he just referred to David’s love in the past tense, even if it was offhanded. Any lingering guilt he felt over harming the Dark One’s love disappears when he remembers the loathsome creature cost him his own.

His smile is a thing of contempt when he says, “I hurt his heart. Belle’s just where he keeps it. He stole-” Killian cuts himself off quickly, nearly making a crucial blunder. “He killed my love,” he stresses instead, knowing he’s safe in sticking to his tale of Mila. “I know the feeling.”

Emma snorts, unsympathetic, and Killian’s hand clenches against the railing. “Keep smiling, buddy,” she says dismissively, turning toward the door. “You’re chained down, he’s on his feet; immortal, has magic, and you hurt his girl. If I were to pick dead guy of the year? I’d pick you.”

Killian doesn’t bother to bid her farewell; to be honest, he kind of hopes she falls down a flight of stairs. He doesn’t wish to be insincere.

The nurse returns a few moments later, tenderly probing his injuries as she’s wont to do. Several agonizing times a day. His ribs are still smarting from Emma’s rough treatment, and his wince is more pronounced than earlier. The nurse frowns, reaching behind her to turn some knob connected to the bag that drips clear liquid down a tube connected to his arm. No one has told him its function but Killian knows that every time that knob is turned, he grows groggy beyond belief. If he had use of his hand, he’d stop her. As it is, he protests the uptake in flow. Loudly.

“Hush now,” she admonishes him. “This is helping you heal.”

All Killian knows is it’s helping him sleep, albeit fitfully, with dreams more like nightmares. He can’t handle another afternoon of his subconscious crafting visions of lost loves and missed opportunities. He wonders if he struggled enough, he could tear the offending equipment from his arm 

Even as he thinks it, Killian can feel the drugged effect of the liquid stealing over him. He fights a losing battle against his drooping eyelids, finally succumbing to the sleep he’s been avoiding for thirty years.

 

-x-

 

Surprisingly, he dreams not of David. He can't quite pin down exactly what his dreams were of; swirling clouds and bright sun the predominant remnants. Killian assumes it was something to do with being to sea, but it feels more intentional. Focused in a way he's accustomed to, yet more ephemeral than usual.

He blinks awake slowly, still trying to puzzle out what his dreams were communicating this time. The room has grown dark around him, though the machines to his right continue their rhythmic whirring and beeping. His mouth tastes like shit, further affirming that he's been asleep for quite awhile. Killian is lamenting his inability to reach the water glass at his bedside when a soft voice startles him to sudden, full alertness.

"Need a drink?"

Killian's head whips around of its own accord, but he needn't have looked to know who's speaking.

He gapes at David for long moments, gritty eyes clearing as he blinks rapidly. Of all the visitors he'd expected (Emma, Cora, perhaps even the crocodile at some point), David is the one person he'd have laid money on _not_ seeing. Yes, he'd been waiting for him, but never actually anticipated him showing up. 

The pirate in him is instantly suspicious of David’s motives for being there, but the lover in him wants David to slip into the too-small bed and just breathe on him for awhile.

David is gazing at him patiently, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, arms bent at the elbows. The picture of laid-back. They could be back all those years ago, chatting in their cabin before bed. But Killian knows David well enough to recognize the tense undercurrent of his posture, the pinched look around his eyes. Not a social call, then.

“Isn’t this a surprise?” Killian rasps out, voice hoarse from a combination of sleep and the after-effects of having the crocodile at his throat merely days ago. He daren’t clear it, loathe to show any sign of weakness in front of David, who is the picture of health. He looks so good Killian can hardly stand to look at him. He can feel the bitterness that threatens to consume him, so he keeps his eyes on the same blank white ceiling.

“A surprise?” David prompts, after several moments of silence. Killian hadn’t planned on elaborating, hadn’t really even had a point beyond that, but David looks so expectant that he falls prey to the urge to satisfy him.

“Indeed. I didn’t think I’d get the chance to thank my valiant hero. Appreciate the rescue, mate.” Killian all but spits the last word, the wrong endearment tasting somehow worse than the staleness of his breath. His only satisfaction is the coloring it brings to David’s cheeks. His dander is as easy to get up as ever.

“We’re not mates,” David says back, straightening from his leaning stance. “I couldn’t very well watch a murder take place without intervening. Even if you did almost kill Belle first.” The sternness of his voice makes Killian’s lips twitch in an aborted smile. David always was trying to teach him some sort of lesson. Today’s apparently is “don’t kill people.” Or attempt to kill people, anyway.

Killian finally shifts to face David fully, eyes roaming intentionally slowly over him. “Ah, noble and good-looking. You’re quite the catch, aren’t you?” He punctuates the question with a wink, but barely contains a laugh at the look on David’s face. Despite his lecturing, he looks ready to murder Killian. 

David comes closer then, standing over Killian much the same way Emma had done earlier. He still isn’t frightened. Tipping his head back to maintain eye contact, Killian is briefly flooded with memories of the countless times he’s looked up into David’s eyes. Even the expression on his face is familiar: annoyed, impatient, but with the merest hint of embarrassment. Killian thrills to know he can still affect him, however negatively. The pain in his side feels less than it has all day.

“Look,” David is saying, resting his weight on hands braced at the edge of the bed, “I’m not here to play games with you, okay?”

“Who’s playing?” Killian interrupts before David can continue. David’s mouth snaps shut as Killian presses on. "What's the matter, Dave? Can't handle a little flirtation?"

"Maybe if I didn't know there's some motive behind it," David answers, obviously before he thinks it over. His eyes widen as soon as he's finished speaking, and Killian grins. He's counting that as a double victory. David admits he isn't exactly opposed to the idea of Killian flirting with him, and Killian got away with calling him Dave, perhaps for the first time ever. What a day.

"I'm quite motive free, I can assure you," Killian promises solemnly. "If you're not here just to stand around and look pretty, what are you doing here?"

David is flushed from his hairline to below the collar of his shirt. He seems unable to form words for a moment, but Killian waits patiently. His heart feels as though it may burst, looking at him struggle. He loves him. As much as he ever has. Killian wants to put a hand to his face, knows exactly how warm it would be. He wants to nuzzle in behind his bright red ear, laugh at him a little, rile him up more than ever. He wants to touch. And touch and touch, until every new plane and familiar curve belongs to him again.

When he remembers that he can’t do any of those things, Killian feels his momentary amusement drain away swiftly, replaced by the same agonizing despair that gripped on the roadside a few nights ago. David doesn't belong to him. David doesn't know him, or love him, or care for him beyond an interrogation. He's here playing dutiful dad for his frustrated daughter. Killian settles on his back again, swallowing thickly against the tears that threaten at the back of his eyes. 

David obviously senses the shift in mood. His arms cross over his chest, briefly relaxed stance stiff once more. He finally gets around to answering Killian's question, in a voice that brooks no argument. He wouldn't have gotten one anyway. 

"I'm here to ask about Cora. We need to know where she is and what she's planning. Emma-Sheriff Swan, that is, said you weren't being very cooperative, so she thought-"

"She thought she'd send daddy to deal with the big, bad pirate, yeah?" Killian interrupts nastily. "Well, sorry to disappoint, Daddy, but Cora was a means to an end for me. We had an agreement, I fulfilled my end, we parted ways. I've no better idea what she's plotting than you do." Which is untrue, but Killian isn't feeling particularly benevolent at the moment. 

David looks like he knows Killian is lying, but hasn't a basis to call him out on it. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly before meeting Killian's gaze. Killian averts his eyes, cursing himself for being caught looking.

“Look,” David starts, sounding oddly hesitant, “I know we didn’t exactly meet under the best of circumstances, and I’m not saying I trust you or you should trust me or anything, but any leads you can give us would be really appreciated. We’re kinda sitting ducks right now, waiting for Cora to strike. It’d be nice to hit her first, you know?” David closes with an awkward hand gesture, his flustered actions reminiscent of their first interactions as more than captor/captee. David was always equal parts bold and unsure, the contrast enough to drive Killian crazy.

He’s a different kind of crazy now, he supposes.

“I trust you plenty,” Killian says flatly, refusing to look over and catch David’s reaction. “But when there’s nothing to tell, there’s nothing to tell. If your hothead of a daughter had stuck around long enough to listen, I’d have told her the same.” David’s outraged huff is music to Killian’s ears. He’s upset him. He doesn’t care.

“Emma is not a hothead,” David insists firmly. “You’re a sneaky, pirate bastard with no regard for anyone but yourself.” David pauses when Killian laughs, without humor but with plenty of bitterness.

“If only you knew,” Killian replies. He still hasn’t looked back over, doesn’t want to see David like this anymore. He’s injured, for Christ’s sake. Surely that grants him a moment of peace. Unfortunately, keeping his eyes stubbornly fixed on the ceiling means he misses David move, doesn’t realize he’s beside him again until there’s a hand on his arm. He jerks, though not away, David’s hand like a hot iron. It’s just a touch, and Killian knows it’s ridiculous, but he feels branded; claimed all over again. Or maybe reclaimed. It’s not like he ever stopped belonging to David.

Killian knows David grabbed him out of frustration, or maybe anger, but it’s hard to tell the difference between that touch and the possessive way he’s used to David holding him. It’s just as intense, just as consuming. Or maybe Killian is just so desperate to feel him again that he’s seeing things that aren’t there.

David doesn’t let go, even when Killian turns wide eyes on him. He looks angry, perhaps, but startled more than anything, probably because Killian is looking at him like an answered prayer. Killian’s hand twitches where it’s strapped to the bed, unable to cover David’s own. The want is unbearable, palpable, and Killian wonders if David can feel it rolling off of him in waves. Wonders if he can drown him, pull him down into the same madness of longing which Killian has descended.

There’s a moment where they’re frozen like that, David’s fingers digging into Killian’s arm, Killian’s gaze trying to burn through David. David inhales shallowly, preparing to speak, and Killian has never wanted to hear anything more. He holds his own breath, waiting…

Until the air is shattered by the appearance of Killian’s thrice-cursed bloody nurse. She bustles in, tutting about the spike in Killian’s heart rate or some other nonsense, and Killian wants to scream at her to go, to erase her disruption and bring back the tentative hope of David’s touch, but it’s too late. David retreats, muttering apologies for disturbing Killian enough to cause the nurse’s visit. He avoids Killian’s searching looks, stepping back against the wall.

“David, I think you should go,” Killian’s nurse is saying, giving David disapproving looks over her shoulder. “I realize that he’s some sort of prisoner of yours, but he’s a patient of mine first, and you’re upsetting him.”

_I’m everything of his_ , Killian almost says out loud. “He’s not upsetting me,” is what he does say, turning his face away when she attempts shine a light in his eyes. “If anyone’s upsetting me, it’s you and your refusal to leave well enough alone.” He knows he’s being ungrateful, knows that she’s only trying to help, but she’s coming between him and David, and so he hates her.

Hate is a strong word. Killian’s emotions are scattered to the winds, though. He doesn’t care. 

She does, apparently. His nurse looks like she wants to slap his insolent mouth. Her face is red as Killian’s favorite vest, and she seems to be struggling to regain her composure. David saves her from having to reply. 

“No, it’s fine. You said you don’t have any information for me, so I guess I don’t have a reason to be here.” He meets Killian’s eyes again finally, but his are shuttered, betraying nothing. Killian’s fight drains away like the rain from the road.

“Well, I suppose I should say thank you again?” Killian offers, now the awkward one. David waves a hand dismissively, and Killian knows this is it. He’s leaving. “You could always come back!” Killian calls after his retreating form, a last-ditch effort to...keep him? Killian doesn’t know. He just knows watching him walk away, with no inclination when he’ll see him again, if at all, is more than his torn heart can bear.

David stops, turns around with a questioning look, and Killian rushes on.

“You never know, eh? Might remember something in me sleep. It’s the only thing I do around here, anyway.” He tips his head toward the nurse, who’s fiddling with the tubes once more.

David’s lips quirk up just slightly, and Killian grins in response, genuinely for once. They just stare at each other for awhile, Killian trying to will David into a commitment to return, David’s gaze unfathomable. Killian used to pride himself on being able to read David like a book, pulling his thoughts from his eyes, knowing his mood just by the set of his mouth. It seems he’s grown more mysterious over the years. Killian thinks he likes it.

Their odd stasis is broken by a chiming sound from the device on David’s hip. He checks it with a frown, briefly distracted, and Killian takes the moment to breathe. Finally, David glances his way a last time.

“Maybe,” he says, lifting a hand in farewell to the nurse. He shakes his head at Killian when he pulls a face. “Better make it worth my while next time.”

“Now that,” Killian answers, heart on his sleeve, “is something I can promise.”

He watches David leave, tongue caught between his teeth, mind lost in their conversation. The nurse is asking about the pain, but he brushes her off. David’s visit lessened the pain in his chest, and that’s all that matters, innit?

“I think I might like to keep living,” he mumbles to the nurse, as sleep catches him in its sway once again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com/) or [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com/)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i posted this but then deleted when i realized i messed up the timeline. it should be fixed, but if you notice any discrepancies between this and other chapters, let me know
> 
> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](https://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

Killian wakes slowly, mouth like cotton, eyes like they're stuck shut. He groans quietly, pressing his face further into his pillow to block out the sun that insists on streaming into the cabin. His head throbs violently, stomach heaving even at the slight movement.

"Darling, how many sexual favors would it cost me to get you to board those blasted portholes shut?" Killian swallows, then cringes, amending his request. "And a drink of water?"

He awaits a response for what he feels is an inordinate amount of time, though is probably a mere few seconds, before grunting irritably.

"David," he whines, drawing out the last consonant in a way that David hates, but which always prompts a response. That's why he does it.

Still, the room is silent. Killian wonders if David is suffering a similarly debilitating hangover, though David rarely imbibes of Killian's stock, and never to the point of blackout. And this is certainly the morning after a blackout, judging by the nausea he feels every time he attempts to open his eyes.

Killian frowns, trying to jumpstart his brain, to remember what led him to put himself in such a state. He hasn't been this far gone in ages. Not since-

He jolts upright with a gasp, good hand grasping frantically for the sheets beside him. David's side of the bed, woefully empty. Cold like no one has lain there in months. Because they haven't. Because David disappeared without a trace, snatched from him at his ship's railing over half a year ago.

Suddenly, Killian's ability to hold his nausea at bay vanishes. He stumbles from bed, emptying the contents of his stomach into a bucket he keeps at his bedside for such an occasion. It's all liquid, which comes as no surprise. He hasn't much of an appetite for anything but rum nowadays, needing its suffocating numbness to achieve anything resembling rest.

He's holding himself up on trembling arms, clammy forehead pressed into the edge of his bed, when a knock comes on the door. "Piss off, Smee," he croaks pathetically, uncaring of how harsh he's being. Smee can take it. He's seen worse.

Or maybe he hasn't. Killian thought Mila's death had been the bottom for him, but he's discovered there is a low beyond the one he crashed into before. This one is danker, drearier, with no end in sight. It tastes faintly of forever, although he knows that’s ridiculous. Milah’s absence is the result of death, much more permanent than David’s abduction. But Killian can’t shake the feeling that the crocodile intended for this to hurt far more than Killian’s heartbreak over Milah.

Smee is talking to him through the heavy door, words rushed and urgent, but Killian can’t hear anything over the pounding in his head. Over the shaking in his limbs. Over the ache in his chest.

“A moment, then, Smee. Damn you,” he tries again, pressing a hand to eyes as he attempts to stand. His stomach still roils violently, but at least his obscured vision prevents the pounding in his head from getting worse. Killian stumbles to the door and yanks it open, heedless of the fact he’s shirtless in his smallclothes. Again, Smee has seen worse. Much worse. In this cabin, with various company.

Including one particularly memorable time that included David and Killian’s favorite red vest.

The clenching of his stomach has nothing to do with too much drink, this time.

“What is it?” Killian asks, louder than he intends, wincing behind the hand still held over his eyes.

Though he can’t see his face, Killian can tell Smee is feeling contrition at having woke him, but his resolve in doing so doesn’t waver.

“I know I’m not meant to trouble you with any but the most urgent of matters, sir, but I had a feeling you’d want to hear this.” Smee pauses then, and Killian can imagine him wringing his red cap in his hands. How the damn thing hasn’t been reduced to a threadbare heap is beyond his comprehension.

Killian waits for his explanation, squinting peevishly through his fingers when none is forthcoming.

“Well?” he snaps, wondering when he became someone who can’t hold a pleasant conversation to save his life. He thinks it was somewhere between the time he lost the second love of his life and finding the bottom of a bottle every night since.

Smee jumps at his tone, and Killian feels a tug of remorse, but doesn’t apologize. Smee continues haltingly, as he does everything.

“As you know, we’ve made port in the Enchanted Forest for the last few days, sir, in the kingdom of Midas, because-”

“Yes, yes, because of the gold and the wealth and the general affluence of the area, get on with it,” Killian interrupts, ignoring Smee’s flustered expression. “I’m in no mood for rambling tales, Mr. Smee.”

Smee nods, chagrined, and continues. “A few of the men were in a pub near the castle, sir, and heard talk of the king’s daughter’s upcoming marriage. Seems like she’s marrying King George’s son, sir, real big affair.” Smee pauses for breath, and Killian contemplates the efficiency of strangling someone with only one hand. He holds nothing but contempt for George and his ruthless pursuit of David, years ago now. David never did learn why he was being hunted, and neither of them were eager to find out. They were together and happy. Nothing else mattered.

Killian ultimately decides against strangling Smee. He barely has the energy to remain upright and Smee picks the story back up before he can find alternate methods of murder.

“There are notices about the wedding all over the kingdom, sir, seeing as it’s shutting down for the big day. But one of the men found a notice with a drawing of the couple, Cap’n, he ripped it down and...and you need to see it, sir.” Smee’s eyes are wide as saucers, earnestness practically oozing from him, and Killian’s interest wakes him up just a bit. Smee is overexcitable at the best of times, but something in his voice assures Killian this isn’t his typical hysterics.

“Hand it over,” Killian says, gentling his tone, guilt bubbling up again over his brusque treatment of his first mate. But then Smee fidgets in a telling way, and Killian sighs deeply. “It’s up on deck, then?”

“Yes, sir, sorry, Cap’n,” Smee stutters, wary of Killian’s volatile state. Killian ignores him, turning away to find some sort of covering. He pulls clothes off the floor at random, tugging them on before stepping in his boots. He doesn’t bother with the laces, shooing Smee away from the threshold and up the stairs.

The first assault of sun on his weakened senses nearly sends Killian to his knees. He hasn’t been above deck in almost a week. His crew seem happy to see him, though Killian knows they don’t really mind his absence. They jump at any opportunity to fuck off.

Jamison rushes forward before Killian can greet them. Or chastise them. Or tell them off for looking at him like he’s death warmed over. Which he is, but he’s also their captain. He deserves a little respect, at least enough for them to pretend he doesn’t look like he’s drowning.

"We thought you'd wanna see this immediately, Cap'n," he says, offering Killian a roll of parchment. His face is cautiously hopeful, eyes never leaving Killian's own. Killian feels suddenly nervous, accepting the flyer with a newly damp palm. It's just because everyone is staring at him so intently. He's not used to the attention, that's all. He's been sequestered away in his cabin for months.

But Killian knows the truth. Knows that whatever is on this paper in his hand is going to break him. If it's possible to break into something smaller than he already is. Maybe crush is a better term. He'll become like ash in the wind, like the remains of Mila's heart sifting through Rumplestiltskin's fingers. Dusty brown, like the color of David's hair. He wonders if it's not preferable to his current state.

Killian takes a step back when Jamison reaches to help him unroll the parchment, assuming that Killian's hesitance is simply mechanic. But he's perfectly capable, and he refuses to be catered to. The crew are all watching him, pity on their faces, and Killian wants to rail at them. He doesn't want their sympathy. He doesn't want them knowing things before him. He doesn't want to be alive, if he's honest enough, but that's none of their business.

He takes a breath, slow and shallow, rattling in his chest. The parchment unrolls easily, like it's used to lying flat, tacked up on some grimy wall in an even filthier pub. Killian knows the type of establishments his men frequent. Hell, the type of establishments he frequents.

And then he doesn't know anything beyond a ringing in his ears, akin to taking a blow to the head. His vision swims, the flyer broken down into blurry blurbs his trauma-ridden brain struggles to make sense of.

"ROYAL WEDDING" the poster screams at him, bolded and underlined to ensure you won't miss it. It goes on to decree a kingdom-wide holiday in celebration of the princess's upcoming nuptials, with specifics on dates and other minutia that Killian isn't concerned with in the slightest. No, all he can see is the drawing of the happy couple. Princess Katherine and her intended, whom the parchment claims as Prince James, son of King George.

But there's clearly been some kind of mistake. An inaccurate rendering, a trick of the light, a horrible, messy coincidence. Because Killian isn't looking into the soulful eyes of a Prince James. Or any prince, for that matter, at least not in title. He's looking at David, his David, back ramrod straight in the severe pose favored by royalty. His arm is claimed by Midas' daughter, the expression on his face like he's been carved from stone. Hardly the face of an ecstatic husband-to-be, though his bride looks equally as stoic beside him.

Unconsciously, Killian reaches out to run a finger down David's face. He's barely brushed the parchment when Smee makes a noise, soft and still pitying, which snaps Killian back to the moment.

"An explanation, Mr. Smee, if you please." Killian's voice is hard, unaffected, while the shaking in his limbs is enough to set his teeth to chattering.

Smee looks uncomfortable, like Killian's question is unexpected. "Sir?" he asks, fingers twitching nervously around his cap. He hasn't started worrying it yet, but Killian's sure it will come.

"Well it's obviously some trick? A plot of unknown intent, perhaps courtesy of everyone's favorite crocodile? It's not really.....him," Killian falters, unable to speak David's name. He's not sure he's said it aloud since the day he was taken.

Finally, Jamison speaks up, when it becomes clear no one else has any intention of doing so. "We don't think it's a trick, Cap'n," he begins hesitantly, clearly mindful of Killian's mood. "They're all over town, sir, and folks are all keyed up about it. There's a party tonight, even, in the square. Dav- I mean," he corrects quickly when Killian makes a protesting noise, "the two of them are even supposed to attend. And that day, with the potion...he doesn't remember, right?"

The potion. David's memories. David could be...

Killian doesn't think it over for even a moment, never engages the rational side of himself. He has to move, to go, run or crawl or fucking fly, whatever it takes. Whatever it takes because even though his weary heart is screaming at him to see through this treachery, if there's even the slightest possibility that this could be...

"Take me," is all he says, turning away with the parchment clutched close like a lifeline. Which it very well may be. A way back, a chance to see, to feel, to taste David again. He can't risk missing it.

"Sir?" Jamison calls after him, voice no more perplexed than it ever is. The idiot.

"I'm going to get dressed, and then you're going to take me to this party." Killian forces the reply through clenched teeth. He thinks, probably for the thousandth time, that his crew is less than worthless. He's surprised they had the wherewithal to even bring this flyer back with them, honestly.

"But sir," Jamison tries again, and Killian could kill him. Could end this struggle right here and now. He wouldn't even regret it. Probably. "Sir, it's not even mid afternoon yet. The celebrations aren't til evening."

Killian almost pauses, almost admits his mistake. He has no concept of hours anymore. He does his best to be drunk or asleep at all times. It doesn't leave much headspace for chronology.

"I am well aware," he says slowly instead, loathe to ever be in the wrong. "But I won't allow this prince to arrive before we do. I need to catch him early, if I'm ever to question him properly." It's a fairly good plan, for all that he just made it up on the spot. How can he be expected to think ahead when he can't even tell what time it is?

Killian waves his hook idly to the chorus of "yes sir, quite right Cap'n" that follows him below deck. It's more gracious than he's been in weeks.

He hopes he's used the last of it up, though. If it isn't David, if this is all a ruse, he has no intention of going easy on whoever this James is. He'll receive the full wrath of Killian's broken heart. There's enough to last two lifetimes. At least.

-x-

Killian feels like the idiot now, skulking in some dark alleyway, shrouded in a hood and shadows, waiting for someone who may or may not be impersonating a man no one even knows, and therefore no one should care to be tricked into believing someone else is him.

But Killian knows him. Knows everything about him. And he knows that he'll be able to tell, on sight, if there's any legitimacy to his act. David couldn't hide from him if he tried, and this faux-David, if that’s even who he is, won’t be able to pull any wool over his eyes.

Figuratively, of course, Killian thinks, as the wool cloak he’s donned slips to obscure his vision. It’s not a sign.

He’s delirious. He’s been waiting here for countless hours, the future king and queen having joined the celebrations unnoticed, despite Killian’s diligence. He and Jamison had slipped away for scarcely an hour, Killian’s addiction to the taste of his favorite rum nearly as strong now as his addiction to the taste of David’s tongue in the pale light of dawn.

It would be impossible to corner the mountebank now, what with the amount of people pressing in from every side, flooding the square with gaiety. Killian has caught no more than a passing glance of him in all the time he’s been here, never enough to draw conclusions about his identity. But it’s fine. He can wait.

Jamison couldn’t, and his incessant whining and complaining had caused Killian to finally send him away in a fit of pique. He’d wasted no time in hurrying back to the accursed pub that had tempted Killian into missing his target in the first place. So now Killian waits alone, pressed up against a wall in the light rain that’s begun, huddling into his cloak for the meager protection it offers.

Left with nothing but turbulent thoughts for company, Killian is finding it harder to cling to the supposed indignation that drew him here.

On some level, he knows he isn’t here to defend David’s likeness or memory from a scrounging con artist. It was a ridiculous notion to begin with, flimsier than Smee’s hat. Killian’s rational side leapt overboard ages ago.

He’s here for his foolish heart, which has picked up a chant of David’s name, thrumming through his veins like a war song. It prompts him to leave himself flayed open; the raw end of a nerve, devastated by every brush of hope and every ravaging disappoint he encounters.

So lost is he in the syllogism of his actions, he almost misses when the object of his obsession ducks into the alley alongside him.

David, not David, whoever he is, glances back over his shoulder, seeming relieved when he finds no one has followed him. He casts a look in Killian’s direction, lantern light catching the water clinging to the ends of his hair, giving it a golden glow. Killian is frozen in place when David, not David, whoever he is, offers him a faint smile.

“Couldn’t handle the carousing either, huh?” he asks casually, rubbing his arms briskly in an attempt to dispel the night’s chill. Killian’s knees feel like they might give out any moment because that’s David’s voice. The gravel of it sets that same raw nerve on fire, that smile only serving to fan the flame.

“It’s not raining too bad anymore,” maybe-David continues, gesturing to Killian’s cloak, which is shielding most of him from sight. “You could take the hood off, at least.”

And Killian is terrified, suddenly, maybe more than he’s ever been in his life. Everything about this man radiates of David, and if in fact he is David, Killian hasn’t the slightest idea of how to deal with the knowledge that David, his David, is apparently a willing participant in a ruse that offers him both marriage and princehood. That his David acts for all to see like he hasn’t a care in the world, like he isn’t a hostage or a pawn in an evil being’s twisted games. Like he isn’t Killian’s David at all.

He’s still, and quiet, for longer than he knows his David would ever have the patience for. This David doesn’t either, it seems, as Killian is treated to an eye roll.

"If you don't lower your hood, I shall be forced to assume you harbor nefarious purposes. And in so assuming, I shall be forced to call on my liege of cronies to protect me," this-David warns, amusement in his voice. Killian aches. Wants to vomit. Can’t believe this is his life.

It’s with shaking hands that he reaches to lower his hood, David’s approving look coming into better focus now that it no longer covers his eyes.

And then Killian knows, just like he guessed he would. He sees him, and it’s David. David is standing before him for the first time in eons. Killian can’t help it; he has to look, despite recent developments insisting that his gaze might not be welcome. He looks at David, who is looking back, his blue, blue eyes, Killian's usual focal point, lost in darkness. Heart like a sinking stone in his chest, Killian turns his attention elsewhere.

To his hair, shorter than Killian has ever seen it, neatly trimmed along his skull. Killian wants to rub his hand through it, against the grain to feel the rasp against his palm.

To his shoulders, outfitted in some formal regalia, accentuating the broad cut. Killian wants to take hold of them as David sucks bruises into his collarbone, smooth face getting roughed up by Killian's stubble.

To his hips, narrower than ever, like he's been neglecting himself. Killian wants to reach out, see if he can span them from hook to fingertip.

Back up to his face, lips twisted uncertainly. Killian wants to tease him with sloppy licks across his tense mouth, until David pushes him away only to pull him back for a proper kiss, once he's run the back of his hand over his mouth.

Looking at him, Killian wants everything and more, so much so that the night suddenly feels claustrophobic, like there isn't enough air to replace that which David has stolen from Killian's lungs.

And there are words, so many words, but Killian can't find a single one of them. There are so many things he wants to ask (are you all right, did he hurt you, where have you been, what are you doing here, have you thought of me like I've thought of you) and so many things he wants to tell (the sheets still smell like you, I found my favorite ring in your drawer, you pirate, I miss you, I worship you, I love love love you), but none of those come. He stands stock still for a few more moments, still struggling for breath, until a twitch in David's hand tells him he's fast losing the man's patience. And even then, the only word he can manage is a low, breathy, "Hi."

David's eyebrows raise, Killian can see the wrinkles in his forehead, and his tone is incredulous when he speaks.

"All that drama for a simple 'hi'?" He shakes his head, and to Killian's horror, begins to turn away. "I think you should head home, sir. Don't stop in any more pubs on the way."

"Wait!" Killian cries desperately, reaching out to touch David's elbow. He swings around instantly, hand at the hilt of the sword on his hip. Killian swallows convulsively. "David, it's me!" he admonishes. _It's me, it's me, it's me_ echoes in the alley around them, Killian wincing at how very lost he sounds. How lost he is.

David looks even more lost than Killian feels, eyes finally close enough that Killian can read their expression. “Who?” he asks slowly, still not easing his hand away from his weapon. “And...who? I don’t know a David, and I’m pretty sure I don’t know you either.”

Killian wonders if the ringing he hears is the same from before, if it’s the same every time you’re dealt a critical blow, or if different levels of grief prompt different tones. Because if they do, this would certainly be the highest of them all, the most definitive. The most desperate. The breath he’s been struggling for all night has finally abandoned him for good, taking with it every inkling of hope or ambition or desire left to him.

David is watching him, waiting for an explanation, and Killian searches for something, anything to say. He looks at David, hasn’t stopped looking, never wants to stop looking, and notices David’s eyes are glassy in a familiar way. He’s looking at Killian like he truly doesn’t know him, no spark of recognition anywhere, no spark of...anything. No fire or fear or questioning. No nothing.

The potion. Rumplestiltskin fashions himself quite the potion master, or so he’s been told. And Killian has been told many things in his relentless pursuit of revenge. Knows about the memories that have been wiped without explanation. Knows of the confusion and despair they leave in their wake. Knows that’s what has happened here. All he didn't know was the duration. He had hoped...well he had hoped it was like a drunken binge and the resulting hangover, effects stretched out for a span but fading with time. He'd hoped it was simply a means to subdue David long enough to steal him away. But it seems this is more permanent.

He doesn’t stop to consider why Rumplestiltskin would want to take David’s memories, easing the pain of his own loss when Killian knows the Dark One relishes nothing more than continued suffering. He can’t spare a moment to think about why David’s been supplanted into this role as heir-apparent to George’s throne, why he’s involved in the joining of two powerful kingdoms. He just needs to discover how to get him out of it.

“You know me,” Killian says slowly, in contrast to his thoughts, which are spinning madly in search of a solution. He needs to talk to keep David here, but he’s still at a loss for what to say. “You know me,” he repeats, wanting to reach out as David takes a slight step back, not running away, just enough that they’re no longer nose to nose. “You just don’t know that you know me.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight, mate?” David asks, while Killian feels hot with the confirmation that David has retained some sense of himself through this affliction. He only started using mate unsarcastically after he started sleeping with Killian. “I’m flattered you’re excited enough about this wedding to celebrate, but I’m not sure it deserves such a thorough seeing-to.”

“You’re not so excited, then?” Killian replies, nonsense, just saying anything to keep David here. Keep him talking because Killian can feel a resolution teasing the edges of his brain, knowledge locked away. He just needs to find the key.

To his surprise, David looks away guiltily, sword hand lowering to his side. “I don’t know. It all feels...sudden, rushed, and I can’t remember how it got to this point. I’m supposed to be over the moon, right? But I’m not sure what I am, to be honest. And I’m not sure why I’m being honest with some stranger in a back alley,” he laughs to himself, fixing Killian with an incredulous look. “Can you tell me why I feel so...at ease with you, even though we’ve barely spoken ten words to each other?”

Killian pauses his mental records search, warmth flooding his extremities, despite the cold night air. “I could tell you, but you wouldn’t believe me. Not yet, anyway.”

David laughs again, drifting back into Killian’s space. Even when he doesn't remember, he does. It's always been like this, unable to keep away. “Alarmingly cryptic, stranger,” he says pleasantly, but his gaze is searching, eyes more alive than they’ve been throughout their entire exchange. He’s close enough that Killian can practically taste the wine on his breath, and he wants to haul him in, kiss him until-

Kiss him.  _Kiss him_.

Killian feels giddy with relief, the answer lighting up in his mind like a sunburst behind his eyes. The most famous legend of all. The greatest sentiment in any realm. True love’s kiss. The magical, spectacular, enigmatic cure-all for lovers the world over. A press of lips, and every hardship, every curse, even death itself submits to its power.

Killian doesn’t give it a thought, heedless of any rationale, deaf to David’s continued speech, blind to anything but the vision he conjures of the way David’s eyes will look as comprehension dawns in them. David cuts himself off abruptly when Killian fists a hand in his top, not having the time to say or do anything beyond stumble into him when Killian yanks him the remaining step forward. He’s kissing David before either of them can draw breath, chin tilted up to catch the bow of David’s top lip between his own.

There are moments, tenuous, frantic moments in which Killian waits to feel a spark of magic between them, a violent rush of air, a fucking trembling of the ground beneath them, anything to indicate an exchange of magical reparation. It’s hardly the best kiss they’ve shared, too needy and rushed to be anything more than a necessity, and Killian feels a twinge of regret that their second-first kiss is anything less than perfect. But he’s here and he has David, crushed in his arms and hot against his mouth. It’s perfect enough.

It is, until David apparently regains control of his higher functions. He shoves a bewildered Killian away with one arm, the other drawing back before slamming into Killian’s jaw with a sickening crack and enough force to send him to the ground.

Killian doesn’t even try to catch himself, sprawling back against the wet cobblestone defeatedly. Everything he’s heard, everyone he’s ever spoken to on the subject claims that true love’s kiss is undeniable. Infallible. The ultimate confirmation that it is enough to be loved and to be in love.

Killian's tongue touches his lip delicately, tasting blood. It doesn’t feel like enough by a longshot.

David looms over him, eyes wild, mouth bitten red. He’s flushed, heaving for breath, and for all that his punch said otherwise, Killian can see how affected he is. But not by magic. Or love.

“What the  _fuck_  was that?” he hisses, drawing his sword halfway out of its sheath as though he expects Killian to try again.

Killian’s words have left him once more. It seems he’s so very pathetic that every resource he used to command is fleeing from him with alacrity. His breath, his thoughts, his words. He hopes his feelings are the next to go.

David is awaiting an answer, though, and Killian is helpless but to give him what he wants. His foolish, foolish heart won’t stand for anything else.

“An attempt to make you believe me.”

David’s furious expression falters before he hitches it back up, determined. “I’d say it was more of an attempt to make me kill you,” he insists, sword finally making an appearance with a flourish atypical of David’s usual grace. He must have been practicing. Killian’s stomach clenches at the thought of David doing so without him.

David presses the tip of his sword to Killian’s throat, who bares it with ease.

“Please do,” Killian offers without inflection, hands splayed out in a gesture of surrender. David eyes him wearily, so Killian continues. “For everything I have, everything I know, every conviction and belief, is gone. Lost to you, love. I don’t object to having my life join that list.”

David shakes his head, lowering his sword. “You’re nothing more than an amoral drunk,” he answers, tone as pitying as Killian’s crew. As loathsome. “If I kill you, I’ll remember you. And I would like to forget this night ever happened. So go home, _love_.” David straightens up and turns away, footsteps heavy as he leaves Killian in the bleak alley. In the absence of his body, the rain falls against Killian’s face in an irregular pattern. It picks up the longer he lies there, so by the time Jamison finds him, it’s impossible to distinguish between the rain and tears.

Killian had called him love, and David had repeated it mockingly, but it’s not love. It was never love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com/) or [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com/)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm thinking there are maybe 4-ish chapters left in this. but knowing me, that will take another 4 years to complete. thank you all for being so patient and encouraging. it means the world. 
> 
> if you'd like to cry along as you read, [here's](http://8tracks.com/captaincharming/leave-just-a-sigh) something i made to cry along to as i write.

xx

Killian’s lost track of how long he’s been in this bed. Days blend together, each more boring than the last. David never returned, but Killian supposes he shouldn’t have expected him to. After all, how much of his life has gone the way he’d expected? It’s a depressingly sober thought, one he has plenty of time to mull over in this damned hospital in this damned magicless land. Killian almost wishes Cora would make a reappearance, much as he abhors her. At least he’s never bored when she has him running about like some demented lackey. Which he supposes he is, really. He feels half-mad most of the time. Demented isn’t much of a leap.

He’s picking halfheartedly at the gruel offered to him by the afternoon nurse, not recognizing most of the things on his tray and disinclined to eat the ones he does when the door bursts open to reveal both a welcome and horrifying sight.

David is standing there, eyes bright and jaw set, looking every bit the conquering hero one would expect. He’s in leather, chin held proudly high. Just as Killian always pictures him, when he’s inclined to a bit of masochism. Or is it sadism, when it’s self-inflicted? He doesn’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. Not when David stands before him like a projection of every dream that’s plagued him for years. Killian just looks, intends to keep looking as long as he’s allowed, but David steps aside, allowing a petite woman to slip in beside him.

Killian knows her, of course he does. How could he not, when her face had been plastered in alleys from every kingdom far and wide, sought and praised in equal measure. Killian had wandered for many years, and the story of the noble outlaw Snow White had followed him to numerous ports. He’d admired her bravery, envied her spirit, and later, when he’d learned the identity of her star-crossed lover, despised her with his whole being. Killian wishes he’d been ignorant to the tale of Snow White and her Prince Charming, but the realms were always starved for a good love story, and David’s with this woman was nothing short of epic. His meager lunch is threatening a reappearance at the sight of the two of them and their united front, so Killian turns away, feigns disinterest. His hand shakes, a little.

“Pirate.” David attempts to gain his attention, and Killian hides a wince at the address, eyes closed, breath deceptively even. He focuses on forcing air in and out of his lungs, refusing to respond to David’s tone. Or his choice of appellation. “Hook,” David tries again, voice nearer, like he’s edging into the room. Killian’s pondering the consequences of punching him, and trying to decide if he’d rather hit his face or his dick, when David’s wife speaks for the first time.

“Hook?” She says the name like a question, voice soft. Killian hears the steel beneath the tone, though, knows she is no wilting flower. Is oddly relieved. David deserves someone with fire.

Killian doesn’t deserve David. It doesn’t stop him from wanting, anyway.

He turns his head, not sure he’s ready to face a reality he’s been avoiding for countless years, David belonging so firmly to someone else. He schools his expression firmly into one of extreme apathy. “Yes?” His is a question too, and while there’s no steel beneath the word, there is venom. Dripping from the single syllable, acrid on his tongue, palpable in the small space. David frowns, like he senses Killian’s malice is directed toward his wife, steps back over to her protectively. Killian wants to spit at his feet, but finds his decorum just in time.

“You’re coming with us,” David says, apropos of nothing, arm around Snow White’s shoulders. Killian knows she doesn’t go by that name here, that hardly anyone goes by their names (David does, and isn’t that interesting. and by interesting, he of course means bloody unfair. if there’s anyone he wished were completely different, it’s David.), but he can’t be arsed to remember her pseudonym and probably wouldn’t call her by it if he could. Killian is nothing if not petty and vindictive.Their closeness isn’t helping his demeanor.

He doesn’t answer David, doesn’t make a move to comply with his demand, doesn’t do anything. David has no authority over him, no right to tell him what he should do or where he should go. Never mind that Killian would follow him to the end of any world he’d like, that he’d walk his own plank if David requested. If it made him happy. The presence of someone else who actually does make David happy has left Killian more bitter than he’s been in a decade, more desolate and inconsolable than he’s been since those dark days after he lost David for the second time. After the ill-fated kiss. After the death of any tendril of cautious hope his reckless heart had clung to. Just after. Sometimes Killian refuses to acknowledge he’s still living in after.

Killian says nothing still, and David never could handle being ignored. He sighs, frustration evident in every tight line of his body. His hands go to his hair, and Killian thinks it was probably a more cathartic habit when it was shaggy, allowing David a release of frustration when he’d tug on the strands. He has to settle for scrubbing his hands across his scalp, now, rough enough that Killian can hear the rasp it produces from across the room. Killian thinks he’d still like to get a hand in it, even if he couldn’t bury his fingers in its softness in quite the same way as he used to.

“Just...don’t make this difficult, okay?” David begs, voice tight like he hates to implore Killian for anything. “You said you’d help, if you could. Last time I was he-last time I saw you.” David stumbles over his words, like he’d caught himself just in time. Killian looks up, sees the questioning glance Snow White sends at her husband. David looks flushed, mouth a thin line.

_How interesting._

Killian’s eyebrows have met his hairline, surprised at David’s deceit. He hadn’t told his wife he’d been to see Killian, though he’d have no reason to conceal the action. They’d merely talked, and about nothing of import. David has no cause to feel guilty. At least, outwardly.

Killian knows his ability to read David is greatly diminished, the effects of time and distance, and wonders if David’s visit had been prompted by more than a desire for information. If he’d been there for himself as much as he’d claimed he was there on behalf of his daughter. If he was brought to Killian’s side by the inexorable pull that has always connected them. Does he feel it, even now, when he has no memory of ever having felt it before?

Killian feels a rush of magnanimity, the connection to David always the preeminent focus of his mind. He’d obviously felt visiting Killian would garner a certain amount of censor, but he’d come anyway. Killian wants to reward him, suddenly willing to indulge the Charmings on their impromptu excursion. Although just thinking the title ‘Charmings’ makes Killian want to smash a window. Or a chair. Over David’s stupid, oblivious, blissfully blank head. 

"Am I permitted to inquire about the nature of this journey, or am I to be bound and blindfolded until we reach our destination?" Killian asks idly. If he had two hands, he'd be picking at his cuticles. As it is, he settles for picking at his lunch once more.

Snow White's eyes widen, exaggerating her doe-like appearance. David just snorts a laugh, relaxing back against the door now that he knows he's gotten his way. Killian smiles, only a fraction disingenuous. He's always loved making David happy, even if he can't resist teasing him along the way.  

"We need you to help us find Cora," David's wife explains, eyes flicking to her husband. "And we need to go. Now."

Killian meets David’s eyes, ready to protest. Ready to tell her what he’s already told David, that he has no idea what Cora is planning. Ready to tell her he’s already told David this when he was last here. The look on David’s face stops him, though. Killian knows David’s expressions, even if he no longer knows the man behind them. He doesn’t want Killian to mention it, desires their previous discussion to remain unknown. Killian’s always been a sucker for anything David wants. He glances between the two, David’s eyes softly imploring, his wife’s more sternly commanding. Even as he stands there a stranger, Killian would choose David over a thousand spectacular sunsets, over the realm’s finest rum. Over a chance at a life free from the agony of David’s absence. Over anything.

“Aye,” he says simply, and the brief flash of pleasure behind David’s gaze is worth every second he’ll spend as third wheel to the Enchanted Forest’s greatest couple. 

"Let's go," David says, and Killian steels himself for quite the afternoon.

 

-x-

 

It turns out he isn't forced to be alone with the paragon of marital bliss, after all.

No, instead, Killian is treated to the company of David, his lovely wife, and one of her delightfully pleasant dwarf friends. His day couldn't get any better.

David had driven the lot of them down to the town docks in his version of the contraption that had busted Killian's ribs, every bump and jostle reminding him of his still healing injuries. David brings them to an abrupt halt and Killian winces as he’s pitched forward, hand going to his aching side.. Fucking thoughtless, inconsiderate son of a-

“Come on,” David grumbles, gripping Killian by the collar of his jacket and hauling him out into the damp air. Killian fights a shiver at the brush of David’s fingers on his neck, grateful that they’d at least allowed him the dignity of his own clothing. David’s first suggestion had been to bring him out in his ghastly hospital gown. Killian isn’t sure what’s caused his sudden fit of pique, but he is sure he likes it. He never bought this Prince Charming act for a moment. David’s far too vexatious to always play the hero.

Killian glances around as he straightens up, face settled in a neutral expression. There’s only one reason they would have brought him here, but he refuses to make it easy on them. David doesn’t have the corner on provocation.

He feels rather flanked as the begin their walk down the dock, as though they think him capable of escape. Granted, he has escaped worse situations while in worse condition than he currently is, but he’s weary of the struggle, of always searching for a way out or a way onward. He’s content to be ordered around a bit, enjoys the give and take of a decent battle of wills. Especially when David is the one giving.

Killian watches him for long moments, hoping to catch his eye, but David’s gaze is fixed firmly on the horizon. There’s a mulishness to his expression that Killian delights in seeing. He loves nothing more than a nettled David. It’s when he’s at his most fun. When he actually interacts with Killian, that is. 

Killian resolves to catch his attention, affecting an obvious (and only slightly exaggerated) limp. No one says a word, even as they slow their pace to match Killian’s hobble. The tense silence is less than conducive to a spirited exchange, and Killian summons his most pitiful voice to spark _something_ amongst the group. 

“You know,” he says, speaking up to ensure his voice catches David’s ears where he’s walking slightly behind, “you didn’t even ask me about my recovery.” Killian fights a smile as he imagines the way David’s shoulders would tense at his tone, leather jacket stretched across their breadth. He doesn’t answer though, leaves it to his wife to fill the gap where David’s voice should be. 

“How are you feeling, Hook?” Her tone is only slightly mocking, an inch away from genuine. Sweet. Like she’s placating a child. Killian hates her. He hates the reluctant curiosity he can sense in her tone, would rather be treated with contempt than this facsimile of concern. He smiles at her inquiry, all teeth, and David steps in close like he can sense Killian’s ire. He probably can.

Snow White looks up at him innocently when Killian grins, her eyes wide and unassuming. “Come closer and feel for yourself,” Killian says, hateful as you please. David slams a palm against Killian’s chest, rocking him back a step and eliciting a grunt of pain.

“You want to lose the other hand? Where’s the ship?" His voice is harsh, offended on behalf of his wife. He's close, too close for Killian to hide anything, and he panics momentarily as David continues. "Come on. Archie told us. It’s shielded somehow, isn’t it, mate?" 

Killian hates when he calls him that. _I'm not your mate_ is the only thing he can think for a moment, gazing into David's hard eyes. _I'm not your fucking mate._

David's waiting for an answer, they're all waiting, and Killian doesn't give a damn about anyone's expectations, but. He's never been able to refuse David anything, even when it's demanded of him with no warmth. With no incentive on his part to comply. He can't help it.

"Aye," he admits reluctantly. He watches David's expression, wonders when the last time was it was fixed on him so intently, with no motive behind it. At least David has _some_ use for him now. It'll have to be enough.  "That it is. Follow me. I don’t know what you expect to find. Cora won’t be there." Killian keeps his eyes on David, defiant, and David reaches for his shoulder unexpectedly.

“Well, maybe she left something behind that will tell us where she went. Let’s go.” He shoves Killian forward a step, rougher than Killian’s ever known him to be, and he’s ashamed to admit it isn’t as disenchanting as it should be. Then again, nothing is as it should be. He’s given up trying to vindicate his actions.

The dwarf speaks up then, surprising Killian. He’s been a silent observer as of yet.

“No funny business,” he warns, voice as gruff as his appearance. “I’m watching you, pirate.” Killian scoffs, deepening the perpetual scowl on the diminutive man’s face.

“Yes, Dwarf. That should deter me from any maleficence.” Killian dismisses him entirely, concentrating on the careful placement of his feet, David’s disregard for his injuries having caused a few different aches to make their presence known. He remembers Emma digging her fingers into his battered side, and how he’d thought then that David would never be so cruel. Killian wonders how many aspects of David’s personality he’s misjudged. Or, more heartbreakingly, how much about him has changed in the years and decades and ages apart.

Of course, the biggest change is in choice of partner. Snow White is speaking to him again, and Killian turns to her reluctantly.

“Oh, don’t worry, Leroy,” she says, words for the dwarf but eyes on Killian. “He’ll help us.” Her voice is firm, assured. She stands next to David like it’s her place, like she belongs. Killian hates her.

“What makes you so sure?” he asks, saccharine.

She smiles at him, heroic arrogance in every line. “Because you’re a pirate. You know which way the wind blows, and, right now, it is gusting towards us.”

Killian smiles. She’s cheeky, he has to give her that. Much like Emma. Bold and confident. David looks on proudly. Killian hates him too. “Oh, I see where your daughter got her gumption.” His tone is laced with bitterness, but he feels it can’t be helped. There’s no need to keep up a facade with these people. They wouldn’t know the difference, anyway.  “Follow me,” he cedes, crossing the few remaining steps to where he knows the Jolly Roger to be, concealed as it is. He pauses briefly at the bottom, considering. But he has nothing to hide, no desire to shield Cora from whatever insidious plot these do-gooders have come up with. He climbs aboard, trusting the others to follow.

The ship looks the same as he left her, beautiful as ever. Killian tries to see her through the eyes of a newcomer, knowing she's an imposing vessel. He limps his way across deck, intent on reaching the helm, but gets caught in watching David board the ship. He's paused at the top of the gangway, one hand on the railing. His eyes are wide, and Killian is inclined pass it off as merely being impressed, but there's something about the hint of confusion that resonates in him like a gong.

David is looking around, not like someone who's seeing something for the first time, but as someone who's trying to place where they've seen this thing before. Killian's heart beats a staccato rhythm against his battered ribs. David steps slowly aboard, eyes following the towering line of the mast before sweeping across the deck. Cataloging. Remembering?

"You sailed this ship from our land. Can you sail it back?"

Killian fights a startle at the dwarf's demanding question, torn from his scrutinization of David's every reaction.

"My ship?" he asks distractedly.  "She’s a marvel. Made from enchanted wood." He can't resist the urge to brag a little, even as his eyes continue to track David's progress. He's pausing here and there, touching as it pleases him, a frown creased between his eyes. "We weathered many a storm together, seen many strange, glittering shores." _Many strange, terrible tragedies. A few terrible, beautiful people. One all-consuming, enduring love._ "But, to travel between lands, she must go through a portal."

David glances over at Killian briefly, seeming to abandon his attempt to place the ship in his memories. Killian has to bite his tongue to tamp down the urge to scream at him to think. To remember it. To remember him. To remember _them_.

_You first kissed me there, mere feet from where you're standing,_ he thinks, desperate. _You smelled like the sea and tasted of fire. You were warm and rough and gorgeous. We stood on this deck together every day. For days and weeks and months. Years. You loved me for years, right here among weathered boards and fraying ropes and out-dated riggings. Our life is here. Was here. Could be here. If you'd just_ remember. _Please._

"Yeah," David says, and Killian can't take a breath, thinking that somehow David has heard him. That David has felt him. That David-

"What do you know about Cora’s plans?" is what David says instead. Instead of Killian's name. Instead of 'I know. I remember. I'm here.' Instead of what Killian needs to hear. It all comes back to that fucking sorceress. David's only interest in him is in his connection to her.

He swallows against the bile he can taste at the back of his throat. It doesn't ease the burning in his gut.

"Cora’s not the most communicative of lasses," Killian says finally, judging eyes on him from all sides. He should never have brought them here. Perhaps he should never have come himself.

"I will tell you this," he continues, sagging back against the detritus stored aboard, defeated. "Whatever malice she has in mind, her weapon of choice is in here." He gestures lazily toward a box covered in a heavy canvas. He feigns disinterest when David and the dwarf immediately reach to pull the tarp aside, nearly laughs at the knitted brows and parted lips of each of his companions as they take in the box's content. The laugh tastes like acid when he forces it back.  

Snow White is the first to speak, gaze fixed on the slumbering giant within his wooden cage. "Who’s that?" Her voice shakes, slightly. Killian is pleased. He relates the tale of how the giant came to be aboard his ship in as bored a tone as he can manage. He’s not interested in the intricacies of Cora’s plan. She promised to bring him to Storybrooke, so he did her bidding. That’s the extent of his involvement in her quest.

“So, Cora used magic to make him travel-sized,” the dwarf says, redundantly. Killian doesn’t deign to answer. All of his statements are directed at David, who’s finally paying him some attention.

“Whatever she intends to do with him, it’s important,” KillIan assures. His honesty, instead of earning him David’s approval, garners a sneer.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what she intends. You’re holding out.” David is still uncharacteristically hostile, causing Killian’s own hackles to raise. If that’s how he wants to handle this, fine.

“Well,” he grins, devilish. “Either have your lovely wife torture it out of me, which I promise will be fun for both-”

Killian swallows a crow of vindictive triumph when David grabs him by the throat, pinning Killian between his body and the boxes behind.

“Why don’t you and I have some fun?” David spits as Killian grimaces, reaching half-heartedly for the fingers around his neck.

_Let’s, please_ , he thinks. “I don’t know what she’s planning. Why don’t you wake the bloody giant and ask him yourself?” he says, digging the key from his vest and holding it out, even as David keeps pressing against his windpipe. This isn’t the first time he’s had David at his throat, hardly, but there’s a hint of malice in the action that he’s never experienced. David is volatile, certainly, but never cruel. Never heartless. Never without conscious. It pains Killian to be treated like a criminal now, when before David would make every excuse for his pirating ways, would paint him in the best possible light, always. Killian doesn’t relish the reminder that the light has changed.

Snow White takes the key and releases the lock as David releases Killian, who settles back on the ground with a hint of surprise. He hadn’t realized he’d been elevated, even if it was only slightly. Killian casts an appreciative glance at David’s thick biceps while David’s gaze is focused on his wife. And the now-awake giant, of course.

The next exchanges occur in a blur of activity that Killian’s addled brain can’t quite keep up with. One moment, Snow White and her prince are reassuring the startled giant, and the next, Killian’s heart has leapt into his still-sore throat as David is sent tumbling back over a railing, thundering giant at his heels.

David’s legion scrambles to help him. Killian is afraid to move, afraid to be seen as an ally to the giant. Snow White has drawn her bow, and Killian doesn’t think he’d survive an encounter with her deadly accuracy. He clutches the rail until his fingers go numb, eyes flitting anxiously between David and the giant.  

The dwarf is shouting and giving chase, but the giant brushes him aside easily. David has drawn his own weapon, identical to the one Killian fired on the crocodile’s love. He steps back instinctively, knowing the damage it wrought.

The giant kicks the gun from David’s hand, bearing down on him in earnest where he’s still lying on the deck. Before Killian can yell or faint or react at all, an arrow sails past the giant’s head to embed in the railing behind him. All eyes turn to Snow White, who stands with bow ready, another arrow already fitted. “Step away from my husband,” she commands cooly, threatening as you please. Killian is grudgingly impressed. And eternally grateful.

“You may have me outnumbered, but this isn’t over. You think I forgot what you did? I didn’t. You’ll pay for your evil. I promise! You’ll pay!” The giant shouts these departing words as he hurries off the ship, and Killian can’t help but scoff. What vague nonsense. He truly expects anyone to be intimidated by such feeble threats? Then he notices the three hero-types exchanging nervous glances and sighs, long-suffering. He forgets himself when he’s not surrounded by those as deviously minded as he. David always was too naive for his own good. Killian has been looking out for him from the moment they met.

Listening to the inane conversation going on below, full of questions and speculations about their supposed wrongdoing, Killian’s heart swells with the knowledge that, despite all that has changed between him and David, that much, at least, is still true.

 

-x-

 

Killian loiters in a deserted alley, twirling a playing card through his fingers. He hates loitering. He hates being kept waiting even more. Cora had sent word for him to meet her, but she’s yet to grace him with her inimitable presence.

After the giant made his escape, David and company had been in hot pursuit. There’d been no mention of returning Killian to his sanitary prison, and he certainly hadn’t spoken up in question of what was to be done with him. He was more than happy to be left to his own devices, so long as they granted him respite aboard his ship. They’d left, with only a brief backwards glance from David. Still, Killian wasn’t worried. When he’d offered David a sharp salute and a slow grin, he was met with a familiar scowl. Not like the spiteful one he’d received several times that day, but a softer, less grudging thinning of the lips. More like an instinct. Killian can work with instinct.

Instinct is what had him reaching out to Cora again, afterall. A deep-set need to protect David. Not from the so-called giant, no. Killian was less concerned than he would be if Smee was hellbent to enact some revenge against David. At least Smee had been under Killian’s own nefarious tutelage for many years. No, the danger he was most concerned with was the elusive crocodile. Seeing David vulnerable like he’d been today had reawoken Killian’s quest for vengeance. He can’t allow David to be touched by the Dark One’s scaly hands ever again.

Killian sighs explosively, easing his aching form away from the wall behind him. Cora has stood him up, he’s sure, probably too entangled in yet another elaborate connivance to wreak havoc on the lives of innocents. Still, Killian would rather see her turned loose on every realm from here to his own than for the crocodile draw a single breath more.

Defeated for now, Killian places the card on the ground, joke forgotten. He straightens, turns around, and has to fight mightily against a surprised jump. 

“Hello, Hook,” Regina says, falsely pleasant. Killian recognizes the hard set of her face. He’s never relished her company, if he’s honest. Much more intimidating than her mum.

“Regina,” he replies warily, keeping a careful eye on her as she steps nearer. It’s best to treat Regina as one would a feral cat. She’s not necessarily vicious, but you should exercise caution in inviting her in, regardless.

“Expecting my mother?” Regina asks, not waiting for an answer, sneer in her voice. “The one you were supposed to kill?”

Right. He’d almost forgotten.

“Oh, that. Well, I didn’t want to deprive you of a happy reunion.” He goes for simpering, knowing the wicked duo prefer sycophants to devilishly handsome pirates. Regina is as unimpressed as ever, but that’s her way. He counts himself lucky to have encountered her scarce few times over the years. He almost feels a twinge of sympathy for poor, persecuted Snow White. Regina’s ire is a force to be reckoned with.

Luckily, he’s spared the brunt of it. “Well, it’s your lucky day,” Regina informs him, cold smile in place. “She and I have made amends.” 

“And you’re here to thank me?” Killian grins back. “How sweet.”

“She wants to know if they’ve found the ship.”

Killian hesitates, incensed. She thinks she can just ignore his request for a meeting and still send her daughter to make demands of him? “Well, you can tell her, she can ask me herself.” His smile falters, voice taking on a hard edge. Regina is unaffected.

“She decided it wouldn’t be...prudent for her to be out and about,” she explains, in a tone that brooks no argument. Killian resists the urge to give her one, anyway. That isn’t how one gets what they need from powerful people.

“Well, then,” Killian replies, swaying forward into Regina’s space. He knows he can’t intimidate her, but old habits die hard and all that. That’s exactly why he’s here, innit?  “It is my lucky day. And you can tell her they found the ship.” He’s not sure if that’s what Cora wants to hear, but he is sure he can’t conceal anything from her, and knows he’d be worse off for trying.

Regina’s line of inquiry knows no bounds, apparently. She seems dissatisfied with the answer. “Well, did you get her things off it?” 

Killian grins, incorrigible. “I’ve been tied up in bed. Not in the good way.” He’s aware his flirting has no effect on someone as stoic as the Evil Queen, but he can’t resist teasing. David hated and loved that about him in equal measure. 

“She needs her things,” Regina insists flatly, not batting an eye at his blatantness. Just as he knew she wouldn’t. He does so delight in finding things unchanged when nothing in his world ever seems static.

“Oh, I’ll bet she does,” he says, turning away briefly. “Well, there’s good news, then,” Killian continues, casual, flippant. Like he isn’t laying the foundation for an underhanded plot of his own. He needs to call on his nascent acting skills. “A giant got loose from the hold.” _Pause for reaction._

“You lost a giant?” Regina repeats, more amused than anything. Killian breathes in. At least she didn’t explode.

“Well, a shrunken giant,” he pacifies.

“How is that good news?” Regina sounds impatient, like she’s ready for him to get to the point. He can do that.

“Because, when he got free, he took one look at the Prince, and became extremely murderous.” The Prince. It still prompts a laugh, the thought of David as anything other than David. Bumbling farmer, poor swordsman, passable pirate. Love of his life. Just David. Killian supposes he could go full on romantic and admit that David had always been a king in his eyes but. He’d like David to grovel a bit, first.

“A giant in town who wants to kill the Prince.” Regina sounds pleased. Killian breathes out. “This is just the distraction we need.”

His smile is slow, wicked, when he says ,“That it is, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come say hi on tumblr [here](http://hookedoncharming.tumblr.com) or [here](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com)


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